


True Directions

by missmagoo



Category: But I'm a Cheerleader (1999), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Asexual Character, Blackmail, Canonical Character Death, Casual Sex, Closeted Character, Cunnilingus, Dental Dams, Discussion of Racism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fellatio, First Time Sex, Homophobia, Intercrural Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Religious Fanaticism, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Sex, discussion of child abuse, dubious psychology, fingerbanging, first time blowjobs, handjobs, pray away the gay camp, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmagoo/pseuds/missmagoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles' extremely religious aunt catches him sneaking in from a gay club and sends him to a reform camp, the last thing he expects is for the guy he (very nearly) hooked up with to be working at the camp!</p><p>A very loose Teen Wolf/But I'm a Cheerleader fusion</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Only Trick is Not Getting Caught

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a cute little One Night Stand ficlet, and now it's a multi-chapter monster WIP.
> 
> There is a lot of casual sex in this fic, so most of the tagged relationships are brief hookups. For a full list of endgame pairings, see end notes!
> 
> Current tags reflect planned/already written elements, but are subject to change as the fic progresses. Please feel free to let me know if there is anything I did not appropriately tag or warn for!
> 
> At present, all underage sex takes place between two (or more) minors, all of whom are roughly 17. This is unlikely to change, but I will warn appropriately if it does.

Stiles has known that he's bisexual from a very young age. His parents were always very supportive and encouraging. His mom had helped him plan his fantasy wedding to Simba when he was 4 (there was a lot of face paint involved, and Stiles had insisted on playing both himself as a groom AND Rafiki as their officiant) and his dad had listened patiently to Stiles' painstaking description of THE Lydia Martin's absolutely perfect strawberry blond hair when he came home from first grade ("Dad, she was wearing a bow! And it was green! And she says she does her hair with her mom every morning to make sure it's perfect! And it is so perfect, Dad!")

Stiles hadn't even realized that people took gender into account when they fell in love, until Jackson Whittemore calls him a fag one day in second grade when he and Scott held hands on the way in from recess. He's unusually quiet at dinner that night, poking at his peas morosely, until he looks up at his dad and asks, very seriously, "What's a fag?"

Both his parents had blanch at that, and his dad looks at him with the cop face and said, "It's a very mean word to call somebody. If you ever hear someone using it, you need to report them to a teacher or an adult."

It wasn't really an answer, but Stiles nods and goes back to pushing his peas around his plate.

That night, as his mom tucks him into bed, she explains that some people want to grow up to kiss and marry boys, and other people want to grow up to kiss and marry girls, and other people don't care whether the person they love is a boy or a girl as long as they're a good person. "Like me?" Stiles asks, and his mom kisses him and answers, "Like you."

Then she sighs and explains that some people didn't like it when a boy loves a boy or a girl loves a girl, so they use mean words like the one Stiles had heard. "But just because it makes them uncomfortable" she tells him "doesn't give them the right to bully you because of it." and Stiles wrinkles his nose and says, "But I don't like, like Scott! He's my best friend!" and his mom laughs and tucks him in tighter and says, "What can I tell you, sweet boy? Sometimes people are stupid." and she kisses his head as he giggles, and turns off the light.

"Good night," she whispers from the door, "Sleep tight." and Stiles whispers back, "Don't let the bedbugs bite!"

His mom dies a year later. His dad grieves, and drinks, and sometimes cries. Stiles doesn't like it when his dad cries, but it's ok, because sometimes Stiles cries, too.

Stiles plays at Scott's house a lot, right after she dies. Only, they don't play so much as sit quietly, Stiles trying not to cry again and Scott awkwardly trying to comfort him. The funeral is awful, Stiles standing by his dad's side, holding his hand, both of them trying not to cry, but after the funeral is worse. All sorts of grownups - relatives, friends of his mom's, friends of his dad's, neighbors - come up and tell him how brave he's being, and pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair, and looked at him with such pity that he wants to scream.

Instead, he runs upstairs as soon as he can and locks himself in the bathroom, right next to his dad's room. Where his dad was talking to someone.

"-- my son! He needs me right now and I need him." His dad says. He sounded angry.

"What he needs right now is some structure." A woman replies. His aunt Anita, Stiles realizes, his mom's sister who he had met just this morning, though he knew her name from the Christmas and Birthday presents she always sent. They were always weird and boring. Last Christmas it had been a book called "Reading is Fun! Bible for Kids" and the cover had been an illustration of a glowing skinny man in white robes surrounded by smiling kids in colorful tee shirts. His mom had taken it from him and called it "nice" with a smile that Stiles had recently learned meant she was pretending. She put it on the bookshelf where he could reach "in case you ever want to read it!" and had him sign a thank you card before she let him get back to planning Nerf battles with his new Christmas artillery.

"You just need some time to cope," Aunt Anita tells his dad, "Let me take him for a few weeks, while you settle all of Claudia's affairs. He's on break for a few more weeks, I'll have him back to you before the start of the school year!"

Stiles hears his dad sigh. "Maybe you're right." Stiles dad says, "Just a week or two until everything settles down a bit."

His dad helps him pack that night, promising that it wouldn't be for long, and that he'll visit every chance he gets, and that this is what's best for Stiles. Stiles complains, obnoxiously, he knows, about having to go live with Anita's bratty twin boys, Ethan and Aiden. They're two years younger than him, and when they arrived this morning they started playing with all of Stiles' toys, breaking his carefully constructed lego castle and using all the wrong voices for Simba and his army of G.I. Joes. And he knows that he's too big now to cry about leaving his dad.

At first Aunt Anita is purely warm and welcoming to Stiles, showing him the room he'd be sharing for the next few weeks with her boys, fussing over him and offering what comfort she can over the loss of his mother.

But the first Sunday in his Aunt's house, she comes bustling into the boys' room to rouse them for church and Stiles makes the mistake of complaining, "My mom never made me go to church" and suddenly Anita's mouth takes on a hard set. "And your father?" she asks, and Stiles grumbled, while tugging on his "church approved" trousers, "Dad doesn't like church either."

After that, Aunt Anita starts asking him probing questions about his home life, which Stiles regards with suspicion as he grumbles out short answers. After a week at his aunt's house, Stiles begins to ask when he's going home. His aunt brushes him off, telling him "Your father just needs a bit more time" and telling him "This environment has been such a good influence on you in such a trying time."

Then one day, his father comes to visit and he isn't alone. There's a woman with him who introduces herself as Ms. Morell, and his dad looks sadder than he had even at mom's funeral. Together, they explain that his aunt is suing for custody, and that from now on all visits with his dad need to be observed by a court appointed guardian until the case is settled.

Stiles wails and screams and hits his dad yelling for him to "Take me home! Don't leave me here! I want to go home!" and his dad cries and says, "I want to, son. I wish I could." and they cry together until Ms. Morell informs them calmly that their visit was over, and Stiles screams again until his Aunt came to get him. Then he yells at her and hits her, too, until she sends him to his room (he's been moved to the guest room, now, and off the inflatable mattress on Ethan and Aiden's floor) to calm down.

Stiles' father looses the case for custody. The courts don't look kindly on a single father in a dangerous profession like law enforcement, working long hours and leaving plenty of time for Stiles to be unsupervised, not when his aunt was a smiling stay-at-home mom with two kids who were close enough in age to Stiles to be considered playmates.

Stiles' dad might have won anyway, but Mr. McCall testifies as a character witness and tells the court that the Sheriff's drinking had gotten out of hand since his wife died. Stiles doesn't know how someone as awesome as Scott could have such a dick for a dad.

So Stiles grows up with his aunt, only seeing his dad on Sundays after church. (Thankfully, they didn't need Ms. Morell to babysit anymore now that the case was closed.)

Stiles regularly asks his dad just to take him and run away, and the Sheriff sighs wearily and asks, "To where, Stiles? I'm an officer of the law. I can't just steal you from your legal guardian."

"Steal me back." Stiles always insisted. "She stole me first."

The sheriff always sighed, and put his arms around his kid, and told him, "I love you no matter what. And I just want what's best for you, and maybe your aunt can provide the things I can't anymore." and Stiles would hug back, fiercely and too tight, and mumble into his dad's sweater, "You're what's best for me."

The sheriff has no idea what he did to deserve loyalty like that from his kid, who he's been letting down ever since his mom died, so he just keeps showing up every week, trying to think of new and better things for him and Stiles to do together, and always, ALWAYS gets him back to his aunt's house on time because there is no way he's losing these visits, not even for a single week.

Stiles chafes in his aunt's house, never quite settling in to a life so different from the one he'd had with his parents. There was never that much of a set schedule in the Stilinski household, the Sheriff’s irregular hours making it easiest to make plans that could be adjusted on the fly. They had always made dinner together, the three of them, or just Stiles and his mom if Dad was working late. His mom always asked him what he wanted to do, and helped him get it right. She had laughed a lot, making games out of chores like cleanup, racing him to see who could go faster.

Her sister doesn't laugh. She smiles, sometimes even warmly, but she is always controlled and precise where her sister was carefree and flighty. She assigns chores with a chart in the kitchen, and runs the house on a strict schedule, and she makes Stiles and her family pray before every meal and every night before bed. Stiles' toys and games are strictly monitored for "appropriateness", and playing pretend was generally frowned upon. (“Fantasies can be seductive, Stiles,” His aunt warns him, over and over, “and easy to get lost in. Better to keep yourself firmly planted in the real world.”)

His parents had always let him talk, listening thoughtfully and encouraging him to form his own opinions. His aunt, on the other hand, had a clear set of standards about right and wrong and, according to her, they were all set out very clearly in the bible. When Stiles gets around to reading the bible himself, he finds it’s not nearly as clear cut as he was led to believe. A lot of it is just confusing, and a lot of the laws and punishments seem arbitrary and terrifyingly strict. The beginning and the middle and the end all say different things, and a lot of the moral lessons, Stiles thought, seemed really open to interpretation. Weirdest of all, almost none of it sounds like what his aunt is always telling him the Bible says. He tries to bring this up to her, but she scolds him for profaning the name of the lord and sends him to a teen bible study group that met three days a week after school.

He starts rebelling intentionally right around the time he starts high school. At first, it’s stupid small shit. Skipping bible study to go to the comic book store, saying he’s sleeping at a friend’s house and going to house parties instead. It’s fun, normal, teenage stuff. Most of his friends wouldn’t even get in trouble for it, but his aunt has only gotten stricter as he’s gotten older. She doesn’t even let him read comic books, saying that they are immoral filth for illiterate minds. He tries to defend them to her once, saying that the stories are often nuanced dealings with complex moral issues. “Morality isn’t complex, Stiles.” She chides, “It’s in plain black and white in the bible.” And Stiles stops pressing the issue, deciding that it's easier to read comics in secret than try to change his aunt's mind.

He still talks about comics with his dad. Sometimes, he buys them and sneaks them to his dad to keep at his house. Sometimes his dad buys them and lets Stiles read them during his visits. His dad didn’t used to read comics, but he’s started recently, eagerly taking Stiles’ recommendations and coming back every week with thoughtful commentary.

“I like that Deadpool guy you had me start reading,” he tells Stiles, “he reminds me of you.”

Stiles grins and ducks his head. He really loves his dad for reading his stupid comics just so they have stuff to talk about. “They’re gonna officially announce that he’s pansexual a couple issues from now, if the forums are right.” Stiles offers, a little shyly. His dad has never been judgmental about that kind of stuff, but living with his aunt for so long has made keeping his sexual orientation under wraps a firm habit.

“That’ll be nice,” The sheriff replies easily, “Something else you’ll have in common with your favorite comic character, besides a smart mouth.”

And Stiles grins at his easy acceptance.

* * *

 

 

His sophomore year, he reconnects with Heather who was a friend of his before his mom died. She goes to school in the township between his and Beacon Hills, where he’d be going if he still lived with his dad. They spend most of that summer together, hanging out with her friends and his.

Sometimes he’s forced to bring Aidan and Ethan along, even though they’re two years younger. They’re starting high school in the fall, and his aunt thinks it will help them adjust if they know some upperclassmen. (For all her faults, Aunt Anita is not actually a stupid woman.) He makes all his friends be on their best behavior when the twins are around, not wanting them to rat him out to their mom. It makes those afternoons unspeakably boring, which fortunately prevents the twins from wanting to come out with them too often.

Heather invites him to her 17th birthday party at the start of their junior year, and kisses him the moment he walks through the door. He blinks at her, confused, and she pulls him gently up the stairs to her bedroom.

They lose their virginity to each other on her ruffled pink bedspread that she’s had since she was six, in the room where they grew up playing the princess and the dragon. He whispers the memory in her ear as they rock together, and she giggles and says, “You were always a better princess than me” and pulls him tighter.

He comes inside her quickly, still 16 and having sex for the first time. “Did you – ?” he asks awkwardly as he pulls off the condom, burying it in her waste basket beneath some crumpled papers and old candy wrappers. He knows he’s supposed to make sure the girl gets to come, too. He’s just not sure how to tell if it happened. Heather bites her lip, shyly, and shakes her head.

“Oh,” Stiles says, embarrassed. “Do you want me to…” he gestures vaguely between Heather’s legs, not sure exactly what he’s offering to do.

Heather blushes and stammers, “I, uh, I could show you how?” and Stiles nods, stupidly grateful, and breaths out “yeah” as he climbs back on the bed beside her. She shows him how to slick his fingers first, then guides his fingers down between her legs, stopping just before her entrance to rub at the slick skin there. She keeps her hand firmly on top of his, setting the rhythm and pressure of his fingers as she rocks up into him.

“Is – is that your clit?” Stiles whispers as their fingers brush again over a nub of flesh, feeling foolish and embarrassed, but Heather just moans a breathy “Uh-huh” and moves his free hand to her breast. Stiles squeezes experimentally and Heather’s hips start moving faster, her fingers pressing down on his to increase the pressure to her clit. He obeys her silent directions as best he can, letting her take control as he bends his mouth to her other breast, carefully licking and kissing her peaked nipple. “Stiles!” she gasps as her hips start bucking, “Oh god!” her fingers are still pressing his to exactly where she needs them, her hand tightening over his until she slows and relaxes and gently pulls Stiles’ hand away.

He looks up at her, awed. Her breath is coming fast and her limbs have gone limp. Now that it’s over, Stiles’ isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. “Was that-?” he asks, instead of trying to figure it out. Heather grins lazily at him, sated and comfortable. “Yes, Stiles.” Her voice edging toward mocking, but in the familiar, friendly way she’s always mocked him. “That was my orgasm.” Stiles grins goofily at her. “Cool.” He replies and flops down beside her, giving them both a moment to recover from… that. The silence is comfortable, but eventually, Stiles has to know.

“So are we… like… um. Going out now?” he asks the ceiling. Beside him, he feels Heather shift awkwardly. His fingers are sticky where they were rubbing against Heather earlier, and starting to dry. He’s not sure what the etiquette here is, but he guesses wiping them off against her comforter is not it. He’ll just wait and wash them in the bathroom before they go back downstairs. Heather blows out a loud breath, and Stiles looks over at her. She’s looking at him seriously and just a little bit guiltily.

“I just –“ she begins, “Stiles, I just wanted my first time to be with someone I knew I could trust.” She’s worrying at her lip, a nervous tell she’s had since they were kids, and Stiles just smiles.

“I trust you, too.” He tells her, and that’s that.

* * *

 

Heather, though Stiles’ best friend, is a menace.

She knows all of Stiles’ secrets and is not afraid to use them against him. Based on the unanimous success of their “mutual deflowering” (is unanimous still the word if there’s only two votes?), Heather has decided that she’s ready to date for real, and is determined to drag Stiles with her, kicking and screaming.

They get into a pattern by the end of their Junior year of hanging out after school on the days Stiles is supposed to be at Bible Study. He’s long since bribed the group leader to report that he attends religiously (can Stiles get a rimshot, please?) by doing his essays for English class, and Stiles now has three afternoons a week where he is free and unattended. It’s freaking amazing.

In addition, he’s allowed to go out with Heather one night each weekend, either Friday or Saturday, because his aunt thinks they’re dating, chastely. Neither of those things is, in fact, true. Heather’s birthday was supposed to be a one-time thing, but since then they’ve both decided that it doesn’t hurt anybody if they occasionally, well, practice.

(“I want to be good at it.” Heather tells him firmly. “When I fall in love, I don’t want to be some inexperienced moron who doesn’t know what to do with her body.” And Stiles agrees, wholeheartedly, with her logic, but can’t help teasing, “So you decided to get your inexperienced moron phase out of the way with me?” and laughing when she flicks him in the ear and says, “Oh, like you’re so much better!” And if that leads to play-wrestling, which leads to some heavy petting, which leads to some so much better than the first time they tried it finger banging, well, then, who does it harm?)

As summer rolls around, though, Heather’s focus has been on them finding other people to put their practice to good use. She has her sights set on a boy she just met at the snobby, pretentious art camp she gets to attend while Stiles is stuck with Youth Group volunteering, and she has convinced herself that since Stiles already lost his “straight” virginity (“Thoroughly” she grins at him), it’s time for him to lose his “gay-ginity” (“That’s not a word, Heather!” Stiles yelps every time she says it, “That’s not a thing!”).

So now they are plotting, and scheming. It can’t be to a boy from Stiles’ school, Stiles had insisted, since his school is small and oppressively Christian, and even if there WAS a suitable boy to be had, the gossip mill would get news back to his aunt in practically no time. Same goes for Youth Group and church boys. And the few times Heather had tried to set him up with a boy from her school had been epic flops.

“There’s a gay club over in Beacon Hills called The Jungle.” Heather tells him. “This Friday’s an eighteen and up nights, so they won’t be checking IDs as carefully and we won’t have to try and pass for twenty-one.”

Stiles considers it. It could work – his aunt is really strict about curfew, but the only times he’s ever missed it he was out already and got home late. And in only one of those instances was he drunk, which he’s not even sure Aunt Anita picked up on. If he goes out with Heather like normal, and comes back at his normal time, his aunt and uncle won’t have any reason to suspect him of sneaking back out.

“It could work.” He concedes, “But what are we gonna do about IDs?”

“That’s the best part!” Heather tells him “All we’ll need is college IDs, which are super easy to fake, and they’ll just assume we’re 18 without a regular license, easy breezy.”

It is, as Heather predicted, super easy. The guy at the door barely glances at their forged state college IDs, just takes their money for the cover and stamps big red roosters on both their hands, and they’re in the club.

It’s loud, and dark, and holy hell so freaking hot, but there are hot bodies on the dance floor. Stiles snuck out of the house for this, and damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy it. He pulls Heather along with him and together they dance to fast-beating music and pulsing lights.

They aren’t dancing alone for long. After a few minutes, Stiles feels a broad hand slide over his hip. He glances up at Heather, who gives him a demented grin and a not-at-all subtle thumbs-up before twirling away.

Stiles turns into the guy’s arms and briefly catches a glimpse of the man he’s dancing with and damn. He knows, from nearly constant commentary from Heather and several of their other friends, that he isn’t a complete slouch in the looks department, and Heather had promised him that the eyeliner she’d forced on him on the way here would only enhance that, but still. There is no way a skinny seventeen year old like him should be able to land a guy even half as hot as the one he is currently grinding against.

Stiles loops his arms around the guys neck, and the guy grins and pulls him closer. Their legs are intertwined, and Stiles is straddling, practically riding, the guy’s thigh. His hands skim upward, sliding beneath Stiles’ shirt to find bare skin, and Stiles shivers at the touch. He’s riding high on the feeling of rebellion and sex, pressing in closer as he feels the guy’s erection against his hip. The guy growls, low in his throat, and murmurs, “I want to take you apart” against Stiles’ ear before kissing his jaw, then dipping lower to suck and bite along Stiles’ neck.

“I – “ Stiles gasps, “yes, I want that.” The guy growls again, and thrusts sharply into Stiles’ hip. Stiles licks his lips and adds “please” in a tone that he hopes comes off as coy and not desperate.

The guy’s head draws back, but his arms tighten around Stiles’ waist. Stiles is now looking his dance partner fully in the face for the first time and, damn, he is beautiful. The guy’s lips quirk in a wry half-smile, and he leans in to kiss Stiles full on the mouth.

Shit, had Stiles said that out loud? Apparently it’s working in his favor, so Stiles tries to relax and kiss back. The guy nips at Stiles’ bottom lip as they part, and he jerks his head toward the bar. “I should buy you a drink,” the guy yells at him, his lips no longer brushing Stiles’ ear, making it difficult to hear him over the music.

“I’d tell you that I’m a modern sort of woman and that I can buy my own drinks, sir! But nearly every part of that would be a lie.” Stiles yells back, and the guy laughs, and smiles brightly, even though Stiles is sure that at least ninety percent of his reply was drowned out by the music.

He follows along, trying not to stumble, as the guy tangles their hands together and guides him off the dance floor toward a bay of seating booths near the bar. “I don’t even know your name!” Stiles tries to lean close enough that he doesn’t have to shout as they slide into the vinyl booth together, “I’m Stiles.”

“Derek,” comes the reply, right against his ear, “And I need you to remember that, because you’re going to be screaming it later when I make you come.” Stiles is onboard with this plan, like, one million percent on board. He pulls Derek into another searing kiss to show him just how on board with this plan he is. Derek is panting slightly when he pulls back, and Stiles feels proud for a moment, because he did that, to this unfairly attractive, older stranger.

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” Derek tells him, “Don’t go anywhere.”

He slips out of the booth and heads toward the bar, and Stiles reclines against the vinyl backing, basking in his night so far. He’s pretty sure he’s staring off into space with a goofy grin on his face when Heather skids to a stop in front of him.

“There you are!” she exclaims, “I’ve barely seen you all night!”

Stiles opens his mouth to tell her all about Derek, and his stupidly attractive face and his plans to make Stiles scream his name when he comes, but Heather continues, “We have to go! It’s almost two and my mother is beyond pissed and we have to go! Now!”

She drags Stiles out of the booth and ushers him out of the club and towards the car, despite his protests that they just got here, and how could it possibly be that late already and the hot guy was gonna come back and do filthy, amazing things to Stiles so couldn’t they just wait? No?

* * *

 

Stiles waves goodbye to Heather and jogs around to the kitchen door, hoping he remembered to leave it unlocked before sneaking out. He tests the door and, of course, it doesn’t budge. He groans and lets his head fall against it, trying to figure out the best way to get back in the house undetected. Not seeing any other option, he grabs some gravel from the driveway and stands under the twins’ window, tossing pebbles until one of them slides it open and pokes his head out.

“Aiden!” He whisper-shouts up to his cousin, “Come let me in!”

“It’s Ethan!” the twin grumbles back, and Stiles rolls his eyes. It’s not his fault the twins persist in looking creepily alike even though they're going into high school now and it has definitely stopped being cute.

“Whatever!” Stiles hisses, “Just come open the door, you little shit!”

“You shouldn’t cuss!” Ethan says, then pulls his head back inside. Stiles hopes it’s to come down and open the door, but the twins have always been true disciples of their mother, spouting all her beliefs and never breaking any of her rules. It had always made Stiles’ minor acts of rebellion look positively traitorous by comparison, and sometimes Stiles can’t help but resent them for it.

Thankfully, Ethan appears to have put the rulebook aside for the moment and comes to help Stiles sneak in. Stiles breaths a sigh of relief as he hears the kitchen door unlock and slide open. Ethan’s standing by the counter with his arms crossed as Stiles enters, his face a mask of disappointment like he’s the older one.

“What in the heck do you think you’re doing, Stiles?” and Stiles rolls his eyes at his cousin’s childish imitation of parental disappointment.

“Going out.” He replies, “Having fun. You should try it some time. There’s more to life than bible study and mathletes.”

Ethan squints at him, then squawks, “Are you wearing makeup!”

“What? No.” Stiles scoffs, then remembers wrestling with Heather over an eyeliner pencil and adds, “It’s just a little bit of guy-liner. It’s no big deal. It’s not girly makeup or anything.”

Ethan is looking at him completely bug-eyed, and Stiles is a little worried that he broke him.

“Come on,” He says, “We need to get upstairs before your mom wakes up and catches us out of bed.”

And, of course, that’s when the kitchen light flips on and Stiles sees his aunt in the door looking furious, and Aiden smirking behind her.

“Young man!” She bites, “It is nearly three o’clock in the morning! Can you tell me why it looks like you were trying to sneak into the house?” And Stiles winces, because no, he cannot explain that, not without incriminating both himself and Heather and inviting more questions about where he was, and what he was doing. He really doesn’t want to have to explain either of those things.

His aunt strides closer to inspect him. “Are you wearing makeup?” She demands, unconsciously parroting her son, then she tilts his chin and stares wide-eyed as his neck, “Are those hickies?” and Stiles winces, because he hasn’t been able to inspect the damage for himself yet, but based on how he felt when Derek was sucking and biting at his neck, Stiles is pretty sure he’s got some pretty gnarly bruises forming.

“I- it’s- I can explain?” he tries, but it’s clear that his aunt isn’t having any of it.

“Explain?” she asks, “You can explain why you were letting some loose girl suck on your neck in the middle of the night? Was it that Heather girl? I knew she was trouble.”

“There was no loose girl!” Stiles shouts, momentarily offended on the hypothetical girl’s behalf, and then he bites his tongue, because that was clearly the wrong thing to say.

“Oh my gosh.” Says Ethan slowly, eyes wide and voice awed like it’s some sort of revelation, “Were you kissing a _boy_?”

And Stiles is screwed, so screwed, because no matter what he’s already given himself away. He lashes out, because it’s all he can do, and he sneers at his cousin and asks, “Why, jealous?”

His aunt slaps him, not a strong blow, but sharp across his cheek. Her eyes are coolly furious as he looks at her in disbelief.

“I will not have that kind of talk under my roof.” She tells him. “Now all of you, to bed. I will deal with you in the morning.”

And with that, she turns and leaves the kitchen, all three boys meekly following upstairs and into their respective bedrooms.

Stiles rubs his eyes as he sinks down on his bed. He fucked up. He fucked up badly and Aunt Anita is pissed. She hit him, and he can still feel the phantom of it on his cheek even though the pain had been momentary. She had never hit him, or any of them, before in his life beyond bruskly slapping boyish hands away from cookie dough in the kitchen.

He’d crossed the line, taunting Ethan. He knows that. It's one thing for her to discover that her nephew, who had never quite fit in to her perfect life, was a queer, but then Stiles had had to go imply that her own son, her good, Christian boy, was one, too. There will be consequences in the morning. Stiles racks his mind, trying to figure out some way to lessen the blow, or put the damn cat back in the bag, but he keeps drawing a blank.


	2. We don't use profanity or double negatives here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles arrives at Hale House and meets his fellow ~~inmates~~ campers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between me and a friend regarding this chapter;
> 
> Them: Soooo, you just flat out took Jan and put her in the fic?
> 
> Me: Yes.
> 
>  
> 
> [For those of you who want a photo reference for Jan](http://minervamagooglie.tumblr.com/post/77572597352/this-is-jan-shes-in-an-awesome-movie-called-but)

He wakes up in the morning to his aunt shaking his shoulder, and asking him to come downstairs.

 

“We need to have a family discussion.” She tells him, in a tone that says Stiles better move his ass and not keep her waiting. He drags himself out of bed and to the bathroom. The eyeliner that had caused so much outrage last night is smudged and crusty with sleep. He scrubs at it furiously, leaving his eyes red and the hand towel streaked with black.

 

He looks down and realizes he’d fallen asleep in his club clothes. He should totally go change into something more butch before he goes to get yelled at about the sin of homosexuality, but before he can go back to his room to change, his uncle hollers up the stairs at him, “Stiles, we’re waiting!” and shit, his uncle usually likes to stay out of this stuff. If he’s gotten involved, then Stiles is well and truly fucked. Stiles grabs a sweatshirt from the laundry pile instead of changing, rushing to get down the stairs. It smells kind of funky, but it’s better than heading downstairs looking like a twink.

 

Everyone turns to look at him as he enters the living room, his aunt and uncle from the couch, the twins sitting cross-legged on the floor like they’re still in elementary school and not three months away from being high schoolers. He swallows nervously as he sinks down into the seat they’ve left open for him.

 

“Stiles,” his uncle begins after some unsubtle prodding from his wife, “your aunt has filled me in on the events of last night, and she feels – we both feel – that we need to have a serious conversation about your behavior.”

 

Stiles nods. A conversation he can handle, even a serious one. He’ll cop to his guilt, promise to toe the party line, and maybe get off with no worse than a grounding.

 

“I spoke with the pastor this morning,” his aunt cuts in, picking up where her husband left off, “and he shares my concern that last night was the, well… the culmination of some tendencies that have made me concerned ever since you came to live with us.”

 

And that – that line of thinking is going nowhere good. Stiles knows that when his aunt had first gotten custody, he hadn’t fit her idealized notion of “normal”. He’d only made it worse, at first, by digging in his heels to get a rise out of her, insisting on playing with “girls” toys and refusing to stand or sit at the designated times during church service. He’d gotten better at blending in as he grew older, learning the necessity of picking his battles and hiding in plain sight. He had even been touted in several report cards as a “good, Christian boy”, which was laughable to anyone who knew him well, but he had considered the ultimate success of his subterfuge.

 

And yet, apparently, he didn’t have his aunt as well fooled as he thought. He had been hoping, praying (though he didn’t know to whom, since his aunt’s god was wildly unlikely to help him in his request) that his aunt would view last night as a one-off act of teen rebellion. Something perfectly normal, something to be scolded and forgotten. But if his aunt saw it as part of a pattern –

 

“Aiden,” his aunt turns to her son, and says, “will you please show in Pastor Roberts in?”

 

He’s screwed. Completely, utterly screwed. And not in the fun way. Not in the way he could have been last night with Derek – and oh god! He needs to not think those thoughts in front of his aunt and his uncle and his damned pastor, apparently, while he’s sitting here on trial for crimes of a boy-on-boy nature.

 

“Stiles,” says Pastor Roberts, smiling gently and perching on the coffee table across from Stiles’ chair. He’s always trying, a little too hard, to be “relatable” and “cool” to the kids in his congregation. He makes them call him “Pastor Dave” at youth group, though he always reverts to his last name in front of adults.

 

“Stiles.” He’s trying to be comforting. It makes Stiles feel even more nervous. “I want you to understand that your family called me because they’re worried about you. Everyone in this room loves you, and we just want what’s best for you. Your parents-” and Stiles can’t help the wince that flashes across his face before he violently schools it into a more neutral expression. Pastor Roberts catches it, unfortunately, and corrects, “your aunt and uncle asked me to come today because they feel like they don’t have the right tools to help you with the confusing feelings, and maybe even urges, that you’re experiencing.”

 

Pastor Roberts’ face is open, friendly and consoling at the same time. He looks like a muppet. Stiles can tell that he desperately wants Stiles to confide in him, to break down and confess to all kinds of feelings and urges and let Pastor Roberts help him. If Stiles were feeling less wrung out, less utterly defeated, maybe he would try to fake it. Play the sad, confused teen eager to reform. Instead Stiles is frozen, bracing for the blow he knows is coming.

 

Pastor Roberts sighs, and pats Stiles’ knee chummily. “It’s ok to be scared of the things you’re feeling, Stiles. It’s natural, when you find yourself experiencing urges you know you aren’t supposed to have, to try and hide them from the people that love you.” The hand gestures are getting out of control. He’s always been very expressive with his hands, but apparently interventions require even more flamboyant gesticulation. Stiles leans back in his seat to avoid being hit by a stray arm. “But we’re here today to tell you that it’s ok, we’re here for you, and we’re going to get you the help you need.”

 

This is terrible. Everything is terrible. He feels like he’s falling in slow motion toward an inevitable fate as Pastor Roberts explains about a camp—a rehabilitation center—that comes highly recommended. “You’ll have the support of teens that are going through the same struggles you are, Stiles, and together with the Lord’s help you can heal.” He punctuates this last point by waving his hands to the cadence of his voice.

 

This can’t be happening, Stiles thinks, this isn’t happening. But his aunt is reaching out to grasp his limp, stunned hand in hers and his uncle is laying a supportive hand on her shoulder, and they’re all looking at him with compassion and pity and Stiles knows there is no escaping this fate, and all he can bring himself to do is croak, “when?” and watch the faces around him drop in relief at his apparent easy acquiescence.

 

“This afternoon.” His aunt tells him, and that snaps Stiles to attention. “You have a few hours to pack your things. We’re very lucky that the program was willing to take you so last-minute.”

 

“When do I get my visit with my dad?”

 

“Your father will understand,” his aunt assures, “He only wants what’s best for you, and we all agree that this is what’s best. Your father will see that.”

 

“You can’t do this!” Stiles protests, “He’s my dad! You have no right to keep me from seeing him! You- You’re nobody!” and he watches as his aunt’s face drops from compassion into a hard, tight line.

 

“I have raised you,” she tells him coolly, “since you were eight years old. You live in my house, under my rules, and I know what’s best for you.”

 

And Stiles knows when he’s lost. Nearly nine years in this house have taught him when there is no room left to push.

 

His fate’s already sealed.

 

* * *

 

The camp is in the woods, right next to the Beacon Hills nature preserve. Stiles sulks in the back seat as his uncle drives and his aunt tries to remain cheerful about all the wonderful things she’s heard about the Hale House program.

 

“I promise you, Stiles, it’s nothing like those horrible places you hear about on those CSI shows or the gay propaganda websites. They’re going to educate you and help you heal, not try to punish you.”

 

She looks back at him and her face is so earnest, Stiles wants to punch her in it. Instead, he thuds his head loudly against the window.

 

They pull up to a house at the end of the long dirt road. It’s large, almost ostentatious, and surrounded by a grassy lawn. A handsome man with a goatee steps forward to greet them, and a severe looking woman with short red hair is a step behind him

 

“You must be Stiles,” says the man, “Welcome to Hale House, we are so glad you could join us. I’m Peter Hale, and this is Victoria Argent, my co-director. Our other guests have already arrived, and you’re just in time for group therapy. Why don’t I take your Aunt and Uncle to finish off that pesky paperwork, and my nephew can show you to the group.”

 

He waves over to the hot dark haired guy who had been trimming hedges around the lawn’s perimeter, and Stiles nearly chokes on his tongue when the guy turns around, because holy shit that is the guy from the club. That is the not-a-loose-girl that got him into this whole situation. Stiles is gratified to see the guy’s step falter when he gets close enough to recognize Stiles.

 

“This is my nephew, Derek.” Peter introduces when Derek reaches them. Derek’s expression is stony, almost a scowl. It’s a sharp contrast from the sexy grins and surprised laughs Stiles saw at the club. “He keeps the grounds here, and occasionally steps in as an educator when we’re short-handed. He’ll show Stiles to group therapy and get him settled while we take care of the paperwork.”

 

His aunt and uncle nod pleasantly and shake Derek’s hand, and Stiles can decide if he’s mortified or delighted to see them unknowingly shaking the hand of the man who put the incriminating bruises on his neck.

 

Peter steers Stiles’ aunt and uncle toward the office, leaving Derek and Stiles alone. As soon as they’re out of hearing range, Stiles wheels on Derek and hisses, “You work at a fucking gay reform camp!”

 

Derek winces. “It’s my uncles place.” He says. “I just keep the grounds and sometimes stop kids from making out in the shed.”

 

“And occasionally step in to teach a few kids self-loathing and internalized homophobia.” Stiles throws back. “You fucking hypocrite. I am so glad Heather pulled me out of there before it went any farther with you.”

 

Derek glowers and turns toward the house. “Come on,” he calls as he marches off, “therapy’s this way.”

 

Derek shows Stiles to a room on the first floor filled with a hodgepodge of comfortable looking couches and armchairs. It’s filled with a mix of kids about his age, and a pretty brunette woman who appears to be leading the therapy session. They all look up as Derek and Stiles enter.

 

“You must be our new camper!” the woman greets, as Derek slips away down the hall without any kind of goodbye, “Come in, we were just about to get started. I’m Ms. Blake, but you can call me Jennifer.” She shows him to a seat beside a pretty redhead. “We’re going around the room and introducing ourselves and working toward Step 1: Admitting you’re a homosexual.”

 

The girl next to Stiles starts, “I’m Lydia, and my father is a moron who thinks that kissing a girl at a party to get a boys attention makes me gay.”

 

“Seriously? You do that?” Says a dark haired, tan skinned boy across the room.

 

“Oh, whatever. Don’t judge me. It works.”

 

“Yeah, on sleazebags.” Stiles mutters.

 

“Sleazebags are the best kind of guy.” Lydia says, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “You use’em and loose’em, then they buy you nice things to try and win you back.”

 

She smirks at Stiles, then turns to Jennifer and says, “Oh. And I’m a homosexual.” She looks meaningfully at Jennifer’s clip board as she says it.

 

Jennifer blinks at her, then says, “Thank you for sharing, Lydia. You… have successfully completed Step 1?”

 

The end of her sentence comes out more like a question, but she marks the check box by Lydia’s name anyway, and continues around the circle.

 

“I’m Jackson,” says a blond boy on Lydia’s other side, “I’m captain of the lacrosse team, and I’m a homosexual.”

 

“Erica,” says the next girl, whose bright red lips frame a wicked grin, “I like pussy, and I’m a homosexual.”

 

“My name’s Danny,” Says the guy who spoke up earlier to Lydia, “I play goalie in lacrosse, and I’m definitely a homosexual.” He grins at Jackson, who blushes.

 

“I’m Jan,” says the – holy shit, that’s a girl – next to Danny. “I play softball, and I’m a homosexual.” Jan is wearing baggy shorts and a work shirt. Her head is shaved, except for a short stripe down the middle. Stiles totally thought she was a dude until she spoke, which shows him for judging a book by its cover, he supposes.

 

Next is the curly-haired boy on Stiles’ other side. “I’m Isaac. My dad sent me here because my brother died fighting terrorists, and the best I could do was turn out to be a fucking fairy.”

 

“Isaac,” chides Jennifer, gently, “no swearing in our sessions, please.”

 

“Sorry.” says Isaac, bashfully. His head is hanging and he looks far more chastened than the gentle warning seems to merit. “Those- they’re his words, not mine.”

 

“I understand, Isaac.” Says Jennifer, “But that kind of language won’t help you heal.”

 

Finally, it’s Stiles’ turn. “I’m Stiles,” he raises his hand in an awkward wave, “And I feel like I went to elementary school with some of you.” He squints a bit at Jackson and Lydia until Jennifer clears her throat pointedly. “Right. I got caught sneaking back into my aunt’s house with beard burn and hickies on Friday night, so now I’m here learning to repent my sins or some bullshit.”

 

“Stiles,” Jennifer prompts when he doesn’t continue, “the first step is admitting you’re a homosexual. I can’t mark you off if you don’t say the words.”

 

“But I’m bisexual, though.” Says Stiles, “I mean, yeah. I like guys, full-blown homosexual attraction there, but I also like girls. I mean, basically, I’ll shag anything if it’s gorgeous enough. Boy, girl, gender queer, intelligent alien life form with anatomy that is surprisingly similar to a human’s. I am not that picky.”

 

“We’re here to cure you of the perversion of homosexuality, Stiles.” Jennifer insists, “We can’t do that if you don’t first admit the problem. This type of deflection isn’t going to help you get better.”

 

Stiles considers continuing to debate the point, but he knows he’s not going to win on this, and bullshitting his way through the program is probably going to be easier on him than picking fights every step of the way.

 

“Fine, according to your program’s extremely imprecise definition of the term,” Stiles says, because even when he’s giving in he’s apparently incapable of doing it without snark, “I am a homosexual.” He throws in some jazz hands for  good measure.

 

* * *

 

 

Jennifer shows them to their dorm room. Surprisingly, it’s just one co-ed room with eight beds, blue bedspreads along one wall and pink bedspreads along the other.

 

Stiles flops dramatically onto one of the pink ones, and smirks back at Jennifer. She raises an eyebrow, and says to the group, “Your beds have been assigned in advanced. You’ll find your names on your bedside tables, as well as in your assigned cubbies in the closet. Take a bit to settle in and get to know each other. Someone will come fetch you when it’s time for lunch.” Then she smiles and leaves.

 

Stiles stays where he is as the other campers mill about and find their beds, until the blonde girl, Erica, was peering down at him.

 

“This bed’s got my name on it.”

 

“Catwoman!” he greets, “Sure you don’t want to share? Get a head-start on that clean and pure heterosexual living?”

 

Erica snorts. “Pretty sure hooking up with each other isn’t part of the 12 step program here, Batman. And Catwoman? Really?”

 

Stiles shrugs as he sits up, making room for Erica to plop down beside him. “You’re gorgeous, clearly dangerous,” he tells her, making her grin, “and by your own admission, you like pussy. So, Catwoman.”

 

Erica tilts her head, considering. “I like it.” She decides. “Now move and find your own bed before I kick your ass.”

 

Stiles obligingly moves to the remaining blue bed. He’s in the bed by the door, next to Danny.

 

“Did you go to Beacon Hills Elementary?” Danny asks. “It’s where Lydia, Jackson, and I all went until 6th grade.”

 

“Yeah!” Stiles tells him, “Only I left halfway through fourth grade ‘cause I had to go live with my aunt.”

 

“Oh I remember you!” Says Lydia from across the room, “You used to hang out with Scott McCall.”

 

“Yeah! How is good old Scottie? I barely talk to him anymore. Just, like, saying Happy Birthday on Facebook and shit.” That triggers a memory, and Stiles faces Jackson and says, “You called me a fag once for holding Scott’s hand in the lunch line!”

 

Jackson scowls as his face reddens, making Lydia and Danny laugh.

 

“Irony!” Stiles sings before flopping backwards on the bed.

 

As he lays down, his lack of sleep catches up with him, and the next thing he knows it’s morning and there’s a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake.

 

“Come on, Stiles, time for breakfast.” Danny tells him. Everyone is filing out the door, and Stiles rubs his face and gets up to follow.

  
  


The dining area is outdoors, overlooking the lawn. They all fit at a single table, except for Isaac, who’s chosen to sit off to the side, apart from the group. Stiles follows the conversations around him with half an ear, grateful that his fellow campers, at least, seem to be here as reluctantly as he is. He isn’t sure how he would cope if he were surrounded by the kinds of kids who came here hoping desperately to be cured.

 

“I swear, I would have told him to stuff it,” Lydia is telling Erica, gesturing viciously with her fork, “but I did not bust my ass to graduate early and get into MIT just for daddy dearest to withhold tuition payment over some homophobic paranoia. So whatever, I play along and waste one summer, and in return I get to live the life I’ve been planning without his input since I was eight.”

 

“Uh, I feel you.” Erica replies, “Parents are the worst. I mean, my mom says I’m here because I hook up with girls sometimes? But honestly, I’m like 99 percent sure she thinks sending me here will make me break up with my boyfriend, embrace monogamy, and settle down and marry some nice white boy from a ‘good family’, whatever the fuck that means.” Erica stabs her potatoes viciously. “Boyd’s family is fucking awesome. They love and support each other, and they embrace me like I’m their freaking daughter, not the epileptic slut who’s trying to pervert their perfect son. I mean, I am a terrible influence on him, but I make him happy and that’s all his family cares about. But the one time I try to introduce Boyd to my mom? She pulls a doctor’s appointment out of thin air and tells me we’re late, doesn’t even say hello to him.” She pushes her plate away, and Lydia pats her hand consolingly.

 

“My grandmother’s the one who forced the issue.” Danny chimes in, “I mean, my parents weren’t thrilled when I came out to them, but they were also kind of expecting it, I think? I found a PFLAG brochure in their room once, and so when I came out I thought it’d be rough but, you know, we’ll get through it because they’re ready to support me. Only then word gets back to my Tutu, and she’s, like, threatening to cut off everyone unless they ‘fix’ me. And she helps out a lot, financially, you know? With school and stuff. And not just for me, but my sisters, too. So I’m here, and next time we go to Hawaii to visit Tutu and all my cousins, I’m supposed to bring a girlfriend.”

 

“If it means a free trip to Hawaii, I will happily be your beard.” Erica tells him.

 

“Amen!” Lydia agrees.

 

“My parents think they’re doing the right thing.” Says Jan, “I mean, my mom’s real religious, you know? And she’s all worried about my eternal soul. Ever since I’m little, she’s all ‘sit like a lady, be a good girl, how’s Jesus going to love you if you’re not the good little girl god meant you to be?’ I actually found this place, you know? Cause she’s been making herself sick worrying. Put herself in the hospital with something doctors are calling a ‘stress disorder’. I told my dad, look, send me here, and she’ll feel like at least something’s being done, right? And maybe I even learn how to act better, so it don’t worry her so much. If I can act enough like a lady, at least when I’m with her, she can relax, get healthy, you know?”

 

“My parents just want me to be someone they can brag about at the country club.” Jackson says bitterly, “Apparently ‘gay’ isn’t one of the adjectives they had in mind.”

 

The group quiets, and Stiles looks up from his plate to see expectant faces. Apparently it’s his turn to share? But all the family talk has made him feel sour, and sick with grief that never fully went away.

 

“I would never have ended up here if my mom were still alive.” Is all he says, before standing up and walking across the lawn.

 

He gets to the hedges separating lawn from forest, decides “fuck it” and hops over. They’re only about two feet high, but they’re wide enough that he has to awkwardly shake his leg loose from where his shoelaces got tangled with the branches. It ruins the brooding, teenager-storming-off vibe he had going on for anyone who might be watching, but really he just wants to be alone right now, so he just works himself free and continues into the woods.

 

He doesn’t go too far, settling on the far side of a large tree not long after the house is out of sight. He’s drawing abstract shapes in the dirt with a stick when he hears a faint rustle of footsteps approaching.

 

“I’m supposed to report you for leaving camp grounds,” Derek says as he comes around Stiles’ tree and into view, “but seeing as it’s the first day and you may not be familiar with all the rules yet, I’m going to let it slide.”

 

“Fuck you.” Says Stiles

 

Derek sighs, crossing his arms, “Look, let’s just get you back before anyone else notices.”

 

“Do you even feel bad about it?” Stiles demands, “Teaching kids to hate themselves for being gay, then going out and picking up guys like it’s nothing?”

 

Derek scowls. “We can’t change the fact that your families want you to change badly enough to send you here. And it’s not like it actually hurts you to be here. All Peter cares about is the money anyway.” He says, “Most campers just learn how to lie to their parents better until they can leave home, anyway.”

 

Stiles scoffs. “Yeah. Cause that’s so much better.” There’s a pause before he continues, “If you think about it, it’s really your fault I’m here.”

 

“How do you figure?” Derek grits out, and Stiles tugs at his collar, baring his neck to Derek to show off the still fading marks.

 

“Most girls don’t leave beard burn, dude.”

 

Derek stiffens. “I didn’t force you to do anything--”

 

Stiles cuts him off, “No. You didn’t.” he says as he stands, dusting his jeans roughly. “Doesn’t change the fact that I regret ever meeting you.”

 

He marches back toward the house, leaving Derek standing silently behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. All of my chapter titles are going to be But I'm a Cheerleader quotes. 
> 
> And you should come play with me on Tumblr. [Wheee!](http://minervamagooglie.tumblr.com/)


	3. No Inappropriate Behavior Allowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a grueling Family Therapy session, Stiles finds that Erica is willing to go pretty far in the name of friendship.

On Monday, they start to settle into the rhythm of their camp schedule. They’re woken up at seven by reveille blaring on a speaker system, and are instructed by Peter (who shows up just as their rousing themselves out of bed) to make sure the room is left tidy before they head to breakfast. Mrs. Argent will be conducting a room inspection while they are group therapy with Jennifer each morning, and apparently there will be consequences if the room does not meet her standards.

 

Breakfast is quiet. isaac tries to separate himself again as they sit, but Erica calls out and pats the seat beside her. He pauses, looking caught-out, before relenting and joining them at the larger table. Stiles regards him quietly. It’s still early in the program, but Isaac hasn’t really come out of his shell to anyone yet, even though the rest of them have all started to bond in a weird way.

 

The rest of the morning is spent with Jennifer in group therapy rehashing their childhoods to try and look for their “root”, which according to Jennifer is the single traumatic event that turned them gay.

 

“There’s a reason each of you are sitting here,” Jennifer says, “buried in you past, your childhood, there’s something that went wrong, and caused you to develop abnormally. That’s what’s making you all experience your same sex attraction today. And until we find that root of your perversion, we cannot re-direct your same sex attraction into healthy, opposite sex relationships.”

 

Stiles wants to shoot himself in the face, and looking around the room he’s not alone. Danny is openly rolling his eyes, Lydia is preoccupied with her nails, Erica’s napping, Jackson’s sulking. Oddly, though, Jan and Isaac both seem to be paying rapt attention to what Jennifer is saying. Apparently not everyone in the group was as disinterested in a “cure” as he thought.

 

After lunch, they spend time “rediscovering their gender identity”. They’re split up into groups, boys and girls, and taught appropriate gender roles that appear to come right out of some 1950’s propaganda. The girls go with Jennifer and Victoria to learn how to change diapers and vacuum and bake pies, while the boys are given over to Peter and Victoria’s husband, Chris. They learn car maintenance, football, and how to handle firearms.

 

“By immersing yourself in appropriate gender roles,” Jennifer tells them, “you’ll come to appreciate the separate but equally important roles that men and women play in society. Embracing your own gender identity and learning to appreciate the gender role of the opposite sex will help you understand the vital importance of building a life centered around a man and a woman’s partnership.”

 

Later on, they have free time that’s broken up with individual therapy. Jennifer meets with the girls one-on-one on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and with the boys on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

 

They’re given a surprising amount of unstructured and unsupervised time together. Stiles supposes the camp hopes they’ll monitor each other, but none of them seem particularly interested in ratting each other out. Stiles actually finds himself making friends. Lydia won’t really give him the time of day, but Erica has apparently decided that he’s amusing and makes a point of seeking him out during free time. They have a lot in common, from their love of comic books to their flexible sexualities.

 

“I mean guys and girls are both fun, you know?” Erica tells him one afternoon, laying in the grass near the edge of the property, “But in totally different ways. I’d never want to have to pick just one.”

 

“Aren’t you in a relationship, though?” Stiles asks, “I thought I heard you mention a boyfriend.”

 

“Boyd and me love each other,” Erica says, “I mean, we’re both, like, stupidly devoted to each other, but neither of us has ever really seen that as a reason to cut ourselves off from other people, you know?” She rolls over in the grass and looks him in the eyes. “I mean, I guess we’re just lucky that neither of us was really wired to be the jealous type, but we both just love new people and new experiences. I kind of get a rush from sharing him, you know? Because I know at the end of the day he’s always gonna come back to me.”

 

“That’s really cool.” Stiles tells her seriously, “It’s so awesome that you guys found each other.”

 

“Yeah.” Erica says, a hint of smugness in her voice, before flopping back onto the grass and pointing out shapes in the clouds.

 

 

* * *

 

 

On Sundays they have family therapy. When Sunday rolls around, Stiles is anxious about seeing his aunt again, doesn’t want to have to deal with playing the role of the reforming sinner. Family Therapy starts at one thirty, so the campers are all on the lookout throughout lunch.

 

Stiles can’t sit still, his mind wandering too much to pay attention to any of the conversations at the lunch table. Parents start slowly trickling in at about quarter to one, greeting their children and breaking the group up into private family conversations scattered across the lawn. Not long after people start arriving, Stiles looks up to see a familiar but unexpected figure approaching.

 

“Oh thank GOD!” Stiles shouts as he sees his dad walking across the yard. He practically runs to embrace his father, having missed him way too much for just a single week of missed visits. The Sheriff catches him in a tight hug and holds on.

 

“You’re here to get me out, right?” Stiles mumbles into his dad’s shoulder. “I mean, there’s no way this shit isn’t child abuse. They have to give you custody back now, right?” He looks at his dad, and quickly feels his hope draining as he takes in the sheriff’s weary, distraught face.

 

“I’m sorry, son.” He tells Stiles, “Demanding my visitation rights was the best I could do.” Stiles feels his shoulders slump in defeat. It would have been too good to be true, he supposes, getting to leave not just Hale House, but his aunt’s custody, too. No way something that awesome could ever have come from him getting caught sneaking out.

 

“I’ll take it,” he sighs, finally releasing his dad from the hug, “how long have we got?”

 

The sheriff winces and admits, “Just through family therapy.”

 

“What!” Stiles yelps, “That shouldn’t even count! I normally get the whole afternoon with you!”

 

“Apparently,” says the Sheriff in his trying-to-remain-professional-and-not-let-his-complete-distain-color-his-tone voice, “I am permitted to visit, but not to take you away from any activities integral to your, erm, re-education.”

 

Stiles groans as he leads his dad toward the outdoor seating area, but away from where his fellow campers are still eating. “Why is this happening?” he moans piteously as he sits and immediately drops his head to the table in despair.

 

“Well, I’m no expert,” the Sheriff says wryly, “but it’s possible that it has something to do with you sneaking out of your aunts house in the middle of the night to go to a gay club two towns away with a forged ID, then waking up your cousins as you tried to sneak back in.”

 

Stiles lifts his head up just enough to glare at his father. “Not. Helping.” He grumbles.

 

“I know, pal,” his dad sighs, “but until you turn eighteen there isn’t a whole lot I can do to help you. Legally speaking, your aunt hasn’t done anything wrong. She is your guardian, and this place is all above-board. Trust me. I checked it out the second I found out you were here.”

 

Stiles doesn’t mean to pout. His dad being here at all is already so much more than he expected from today, but he can’t help but feel trapped all over again after the brief glimpse of hope his dad had brought with him.

 

“I did manage to sneak you some contraband, though.” His dad says, pitching his voice low, sliding  Stiles a small flat package he hadn’t noticed before. Stiles opens it as covertly as he’s able (read: not very) and has to control his reaction carefully, because inside are the latest issues of his three favorite comics.

 

“Oh my god, you are the best!” He whispers, keeping the comics tucked out of sight. “Seriously, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

 

“Don’t thank me too soon,” his dad warns with a chuckle, “one of those has a cliffhanger that’s gonna damn near kill you.”

 

“I’m gonna go put them away before someone sees.” Stiles says, tucking them in the back of his pants and pulling his shirt over to hide them, “If anyone asks, I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

 

He ducks back to the dorm room, feeling bad about leaving his dad alone, but knowing that the second his aunt arrives his chances of getting the comics safely hidden will plummet. He tucks them quickly under his mattress, and hurries back outside only to find his dad has been joined by his aunt. He freezes, torn between wanting to avoid Aunt Anita and wanting to rescue his dad. His aunt makes the decision for him by looking up and catching sight of him.

 

“Oh there you are!” She calls, waving him over, “They’ve called everyone in, we have to hurry or we’ll be late!”

 

She hurries Stiles and the Sheriff into the house, where Jennifer is welcoming the parents and ushering everyone to their seats.

 

“Welcome, families, we are so glad you could join us today.” She says as Stiles is sandwiched between his dad and his aunt. She continues her spiel about how today is about support and growth as the campers learn to embrace their inner heterosexual selves, or some bullshit. She goes on to explain to the parents and families that everyone at camp is looking for their “root”.

 

“It can be any formative experience or traumatic incident that may have altered their understanding of normal, healthy romantic attraction or traditional family structure.” Jennifer tells them, “Erica, why don’t you start us off?”

 

Erica puts on an exaggerated pout, and says, “I think my root is my parents,” causing her mother and father to sputter indignantly. She keeps talking over them, “there was this one year, when my daddy got laid off at work, and my mom had to support us, financially, and, I dunno,” she gives a coquettish shrug, “maybe that’s what’s got me all mixed up about the roles of men and women.”

 

“Excellent, Erica!” Jennifer enthuses over Mrs. Reyes’ protests, “You saw your father emasculated, and your mother become the man of the house. It must have instilled in you a sense that gender roles were interchangeable, and therefore that the gender of your partner did not matter. Congratulations, Erica! You have found your root!”

 

Erica grins happily as the room applauds politely, though her parents still look disgruntled.

 

“Let’s move on,” Jennifer suggests, “What about you, Jackson?”

 

Jackson does not look prepared. His eyes dart worriedly between his parents, before he timidly suggests, “Maybe it has something to do with spending too much time in the locker room? I mean, I first started feeling this way watching other boys change, standing next to them in the shower—“

 

“Ugh, Jackson, stop being so vulgar!” His mother cuts him off, “If locker rooms were enough to turn a boy gay, every red blooded man in the country would have your perversions.” Jackson hangs his head, stripped of his usual vibrato under his mother’s sharp criticism.

 

“Your mother has a point, Jackson,” Jennifer says, “though we do try to be encouraging and supportive in this room, Mrs. Whittemore. A locker room is a very common place to first become aware of unnatural feelings, and many campers mistakenly identify those first feelings of awareness as their root when they are in fact the first emergence of the symptoms. Keep searching, Jackson. You’re making progress! Now who would like to share next? Stiles, maybe?”

 

Stiles, who has intentionally not given a second thought to his root, shrugs and says nothing.

 

“Come on now, Stiles. You don’t have to get it right on the first try, the important part is unpacking your past experiences to find your root. Is there anything you would like to share?”

 

“He had such a trying time when his mother, my sister, passed on, rest her soul.” Says Aunt Anita before Stiles has the chance to speak up. “A difficult time for the family, and a terrible loss, but sometimes I worry that after Claudia was hospitalized, and perhaps even before, Stiles lacked a strong example of a functioning family structure.”

 

And Stiles is beyond pissed. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid with the whole “root” conversation. His last memories of his mother are not some silly trigger to be played with in the name of Jennifer’s pseudo-psychoanalysis. Before he has the chance to express his rage, though, he sees that his dad is on pretty much the same page.

 

“You listen here,” The Sheriff yells, holding a threatening finger out toward Aunt Anita, “My wife and I did every damn thing we could for Stiles, and I will not have her memories sullied with your snide insinuations. Stiles lost his mom too young, but in spite of that he’s grown into a young man I’m proud to call my son, and I know Claudia would have been damn proud of him, too. He doesn’t need to be fixed or indoctrinated with this homophobic nonsense, and he certainly doesn’t need to hear you blame his so-called problems on a woman who did nothing but love and support him until the day she died.”

 

Stiles’ aunt looks vaguely shell-shocked, as Jennifer cuts in, “Mr. Stilinski, we are all here to support Stiles and to help him heal. I understand your frustration, but all we want is for Stiles to live a normal, healthy life.”

 

“Lady, you got a lotta nerve messing around with these kids’ heads when you don’t even have a degree in psychology.” The Sheriff tells her, “Yeah, I looked you up. An associates in English from Beacon Hills Community College and a year of missionary work in Mexico. What part of that makes you a qualified psychologist? You say you’re trying to help—hell, you might even think it’s true—but you’ve got no right to be posturing to these kids like you’re some expert. This isn’t healthy, or right, and I don’t want my kid mixed up in it.”

 

Stiles’ aunt has collected herself, and tells the Sheriff coolly, “I understand that the mission of this camp isn’t precisely aligned with your beliefs, John, but as long as Stiles remains in my care, I must do for him what I feel is best for him. He will remain at Hale House for the duration of the program.”

 

With that, the Sheriff storms out, leaving behind a room full of stunned faces.

 

“Well,” Jennifer says awkwardly into the silence, “Shall we continue?”

 

Stiles starts speaking, without prompting, “Did you ever think that maybe you’re my stupid root?” he demands of his aunt, “The day we buried my mom, you ripped me away from my dad and basically told me my family wasn’t good enough. You’ve never done anything but undermine the way my parents tried to raise me, and you never took the time to explain when I asked why things were the way they were and if I’m so confused about what a family is supposed to look like, maybe that’s all on you. I hate you,” he tells his aunt as he stands, “And I know if there was a god, he would have let you die instead of my mom.”

 

He runs after his dad, catching him before he reaches the squad car.

 

“Dad!” he shouts, voice cracking as he fights back tears. His dad turns to catch him in a tight Stilinski hug.

 

“I love you, kiddo.” Says his dad, his voice gruff, “I’m always on your side, you know that, right?”

 

Stiles nods, releasing his dad to wipe his eyes as he says, “I just want to come home.”

 

“You and me both, kid.” Then the sheriff shifts awkwardly, “I know we haven’t talked about it,” he says with a wince, “but your birthday isn’t that far away. Custody only lasts until you’re eighteen, so if you wanted to move home for the second half of the school year, legally there’s nothing stopping you. And, you know, as long as you don’t mind that your bedroom hasn’t changed since you were eight, it’s waiting for you.”

 

Stiles gapes for a moment before responding, “Seriously? Are you serious? Dad, that would be, like, the best birthday present of my life!”

 

“Really?” his dad asks hopefully, “There’s a lot more to discuss, like where you’ll finish school, and making sure it doesn’t interfere with your college applications, but if that’s something you want, we can make it happen.”

 

Stiles hugs his dad again. “You are the best!” He says.

 

The Sheriff leaves after that, telling his son that he can’t see any good come from returning to the therapy session. Stiles considers going back in himself, but decides to retreat to the dorm room instead.

 

He’s laying on his bed, tossing a lacrosse ball toward the ceiling and catching it before it smacks him in the face, when everyone else files back in.

 

“There you are!” Says Danny, “Everyone was really worried when you didn’t come back to therapy.”

 

“Your aunt cried when you left.” Jackson tells him, and Stiles snorts. “It took Jennifer a good twenty minutes to calm her back down, and by that point we were already so derailed that we never got back on track.”

 

“But seriously, thank you, though.” Says Jan. “I was worried my parents were gonna be all disappointed because I don’t have a root yet, but instead they left thinking ‘Hey, at least we’re not that dysfunctional!’ so, you know, net win.”

 

Stiles barks a laugh and catches the lacrosse ball one last time. He sits up to look at Jan and asks, “Did she tell you she’s proud you’re not as messed up as me?”

 

“Nah,” says Jan, “I think she’s mostly proud of herself for not being as messed up as your auntie.” Stiles huffs a laugh at that.

 

Erica flops down beside him, a tight fit on the single bed. Stiles shifts over to accommodate her. She pitches her voice low, so the others would have to be actually trying to overhear her, and asks, “You want to stay here and talk shit out? Or do you want a distraction?”

 

Stiles pauses before answering, fidgeting with the lacrosse ball in his hands. “Distraction.” He says finally.

 

“Cool.” Says Erica, “Meet me in the shed out by the pool in five minutes.” Then she gets up, pats his knee, and walks out of the dorm room. Stiles waits a few minutes, trying half-heartedly to listen to the conversation the others are having, before getting up and following Erica out the door.

 

She grabs him the moment he enters the tool shed, spinning him  around to push him against the door as soon as they’re inside.

 

“By my estimation, you need to shut your brain off for a sec to deal with all that family bullshit that just went down, so here’s my proposal. I’m gonna let you eat me out, until I come screaming, and then, if you are a very good boy, I’m gonna get you off. I’m not gonna tell you how yet, because I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but it’s very important that you don’t come until I say so. Nod your head if this sounds like something you want to do right now.”

 

Stiles nods vigorously, staring at Erica as she backs up and pulls off her shirt. “Good.” She tells him, “If at any point you want to stop, you just say the word and I will put my panties back on so fast you won’t even know they were missing. If you don’t want to stop, you do what I say.”

 

“Fuck, Erica—“ Stiles says, watching her shimmy out of her tight jeans and underwear. She brings a quieting finger to his lips. “No talking,” she says, quirking her eyebrow, “I have better uses for your tongue.”

 

She lays her shirt down on the workbench before hopping up and spreading her legs invitingly. Stiles grabs the old wheelie stool sitting by the bench and sinks it down to its lowest point, placing himself between Erica’s thighs. She swings her legs over his shoulders and pushes him closer with her heels.

 

Stiles has done this a couple of times with Heather, and, according to his very scientific sample size of one, he’s gotten pretty good at it. He takes his time, kissing and nipping at her inner thighs, running his hands slowly up and down the outsides of her legs. Erica shifts above him, giving him better access to her pussy. He takes the hint, and licks a firm, hot stripe from her opening up to her clit. Erica makes a breathy, approving noise above him, so he repeats the motion a few times, keeping it slow and firm until he feels Erica’s hips jerk.

 

“Come on,” Erica says, carding her hands roughly through his hair, “Enough teasing.” And Stiles grins briefly to himself, before closing his lips around Erica’s clit in a wet, open kiss. He works the tip of his tongue in a tight circle until Erica keens, then switches to short, sharp strokes that cause Erica to tighten her grip in his hair and push herself further into his face. Stiles’ cock is straining is his jeans as he inhales Erica’s scent and gathers the taste of her on his tongue. He slides one hand down to palm himself, but Erica grabs his arm before he’s able to gather any real friction.

 

“Uh-uh,” She says, her voice teasing but firm, “stay up here with me.  Patience is a virtue that really pays off sometimes. Trust me, we’ll pay your dick plenty of attention in just a little bit.”

 

It takes some will power, but Stiles removes his hand from his crotch and replaces it on Erica’s leg before re-focusing on eating her out.

 

“Jesus Christ, how are you so good at this?” she asks breathlessly as his tongue pushes into her. He keeps his mouth where it is, pushing his tongue in and out in lieu of answering, and sliding a hand around the top of her thigh so that his thumb can reach to thumb roughly at her clit. Erica lets out a high whine and grips his hair more tightly, bucking her hips to fuck herself on Stiles’ tongue. Stiles rides it out, trying to keep a steady rhythm until Erica stills and releases him, panting heavily.

 

He slides back on the stool, wiping his face on his shirt. “Off.” Erica demands, sliding off the workbench to pull Stiles’ shirt the rest of the way over his head. She pushes him on the stool until his back is up against the wall of the shed. “Seriously, feel free to use me as a reference, because that was fantastic.” She tells him, before leaning in to give him the filthiest kiss of his life. Her tongue flicks suggestively into his mouth, and he groans into her as her hand reaches down to squeeze his cock.

 

“I couldn’t sneak any condoms in,” she tells him regretfully, moving her hand to undo his jeans. Stiles lifts his hips to help as Erica pushes down his jeans and boxers together. “So I can’t let you fuck me.” Her voice is pouty and her breath is hot in his ear, her fingers are teasingly light as they stroke his cock. “But there’s plenty else we can do.” And with that she ducks down and takes Stiles’ dick into her mouth, her hand tightening around the base. Stiles shouts in surprise, then moans as Erica’s tongue runs up the vein on the underside of his cock.

 

He his hips jerk once without his permission, then he focuses on stilling them. Heather had mentioned when they did this together that she didn’t like feeling like he was fucking her face, so he tries to extend Erica the same courtesy and keeps his hips as still as he can while she sucks and strokes him. Then she’s pulling off with one last wicked twist of her tongue around the head of his cock. Stiles whimpers at the loss of contact, but then Erica is pulling him to his feet and dangling what looks like the olive oil bottle from the dinner table between her fingers.

 

“We have to improvise, since we can’t get our hands on any real lube.” She tells him. “So you’re gonna fuck my thighs using this for slick.” She hands him the bottle and pushes herself up against the wall, her legs pressed tightly together and her ass pressed out invitingly. Stiles takes the bottle and eagerly pours the oil onto his hand, stroking his cock until it’s thoroughly coated, then rubbing his hand into the crease of Erica’s thighs.

 

“Shouldn’t we be using a condom for this?” he asks, brain mostly distracted by Erica’s ass.

 

“Just don’t actually stick it in, and don’t come while we’re doing this.” Says Erica as she flips her hair over one shoulder, leaving a back full of bare skin for Stiles to press into. Stiles nods in agreement, and presses himself between Erica’s legs, the top of his cock just barely pressing between the cheeks of her ass. He gives a few tentative thrusts until Erica presses back into him encouragingly. Then he wraps his arms around her and starts building a rhythm. One hand travels up, dipping inside the cup of her bra to play with her breast, while the other stretches broadly over her lower abdomen, gently pushing her back into his every thrust.

 

“Yeah, Stiles. Just like that.” Erica breaths, wrapping a hand back to grasp his neck. He follows where she pulls, pressing kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her throat. His bottom hand slides lower, until one finger is pressed against her clit, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Stiles tries to pace himself, keeping a steady rhythm that’s good for them both, but it’s so good and all too soon Stiles feels himself riding the edge of his orgasm. “Erica, I think I’m gonna—” he moans into the shell of her ear, and she nods and steps her legs apart, freeing Stiles’ dick from the perfect, wet heat between her thighs.

 

She spins them, so that Stiles’ back is against the wall and she’s facing him. She grabs his cock, which is still slick with oil, and jerks him in long, firm strokes. It’s barely a minute before Stiles is coming, with a shout of “Oh god!” as thick white spurts of come coat Erica’s hand and the dirt floor of the shed.

 

They both freeze as a loud clatter sounds just outside the shed walls just after Stiles’ shout. A moment later, a male voice calls, “Is, uh, is somebody in there?”

 

“Shit!” Erica hisses, and “Fuck!” Stiles agrees as they scramble for their clothes in an attempt to make themselves more-or-less presentable. Erica shamelessly wipes her hand on Stiles’ shirttail, and Stiles makes an annoyed face at her. “Better your laundry than mine!” She whispers unapologetically as she shimmies back into her jeans, and Stiles misses his chance for a comeback being distracted by the way her tits bounce while she does it. There’s a knock on the shed door, and the voice calls again, “You really can’t be out here unsupervised. I’ll give you thirty seconds to get decent, but then I need to open the door.”

 

Erica gives herself and Stiles a quick once-over to make sure everything is covered, before swinging the door open herself.

 

“Why would we need thirty seconds?” She asks Derek’s dumbfounded face. “It’s almost like you think something untoward was happening in here.” She runs a thumb along her bottom lip to clean up any smudges of her lipstick, and grins. “We’re just both really into botany.”

 

“It’s a hobby that we share.” Stiles agrees readily. “Plants, and… fertilizers. You know. Botany stuff.”

 

Derek is openly gaping at Stiles, which makes him wonder just how wrecked he looks right now. Derek’s ears are turning pink, and Stiles would think it was adorable if he wasn’t so intent on hating the man right now.

 

“We were just heading back to join the rest of the group now, though.” Erica says, grabbing Stiles’ hand and pulling him toward the house. Stiles looks back at Derek and winks, which is worth it to see the startled look on his face before it schools itself back into anger and disapproval.

 

“He’s totally gonna rat on us!” Erica whispers as soon as Derek’s out of earshot, but Stiles shrugs and says, “Nah. I think he’ll keep his mouth shut on this one.”

 

Erica stops abruptly, causing Stiles to collide into her. “You.” She says, holding a threatening finger out to him, “You have dirt on the hot maintenance guy.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stiles says, and attempts to continue walking, but Erica grabs his arm.

 

“Nuh-uh.” She says, “You are telling me what you have on him, or so help me I will make your life miserable until I find out.”

 

Stiles really doesn’t want to do this here and now, but Erica’s glare holds no room for argument, so Stiles sighs and admits, “Derek’s the guy who got me sent here.” Erica’s raised eyebrows tell him that this isn’t sufficient information, so he continues, “We met at a gay club, I snuck in with a fake ID. We danced and made out for a while, and we were gonna hook up, but my friend dragged me home so she could make her curfew before we got the chance. My aunt caught me sneaking in, and saw the hickies on my neck, and…” he spreads his arms as if to say, here we are.

 

“That is insane.” Erica tells him. “I’m not even sure I believe you right now, because that is insane.”

 

“Yep.” Agrees Stiles, and continues toward the house.

 

“Wait--WAIT!” Erica calls as she catches up to him, “ This is great! We can, I don’t know, we can use this somehow!”

 

“Use it for what, Erica?” asks Stiles, “We’re all just biding our time here, and then hoping we hide shit better once we get home.”

 

“Yeah, but we’ve got dirt on an employee, a family member of one of the owners. That could make biding our time a whole lot more fun, don’cha think?” Erica grins.

 

Stiles shakes his head.  “Nah. Peter doesn’t give a shit about reforming us, or whatever. Just wants a big fat paycheck from our homophobic families for fixing us. The Argents, though. They actually believe this shit. They’re bona fide religious nuts who think being queer is some sort of abomination. All ratting out Derek will do is get them to cut Peter out of the business and double down on all of us.”

 

“Ok, but Derek doesn’t know we know all that.” Erica says, “So we hold it over his head, get him to go easy on us about what we do in tool sheds, maybe have him run a few errands. The Argents don’t sleep on the premises, maybe we even get Derek to sneak us out a night or two, have some fun while we don’t have parentals peeking over our shoulders.”

 

Stiles laughs. “Well, we can’t go to the Jungle. Too close to home for too many of us. Someone might see someone they know, and it could get back to someone’s parents and get us all into deep shit.”

 

“That’s cool.” Says Erica with a smirk. “I know a place that’s a little farther away. It’s called Cocksucker. We can go there.”

 

“Subtle.”

 

“Whatever, don’t even pretend you don’t want a souvenir matchbook from a place called Cocksucker.” She mimes a blowjob with her fist and tongue. “Whatever, it’s Sunday anyways. We’ve got all week to plan this little adventure!”

 

They’re back at the dorm room and Erica bursts in and announces, “Who wants to go on a little field trip next weekend?”

 

The rest of the campers give her puzzled looks, and Jackson replies, “What in the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Stiles has a hook-up with Derek the hot groundskeeper, and he’s gonna take us all out next weekend! Oops, I think I phrased that wrong; Stiles hooked up with Derek the hot groundskeeper, and we are going to exploit that to make Derek cater to our every whim.”

 

The room explodes, everyone starts crowding them and shouting over one another, demanding to know the full story.

 

“What, just now?” Lydia demands, shoving her way to the front of the group. “There’s no way you were stupid enough to try and seduce him here!”

 

“What, no!” Stiles says, “Before! He’s the guy from the night I got caught, is all. And  I seriously doubt that’s enough to blackmail him as thoroughly as Erica wants to.”

 

“It’s worth a shot!” Erica protests, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

 

And somehow, despite his protests, Stiles ends up cornering Derek the next day at lunch.

 

“So we were thinking,” Stiles begins, having pulled Derek around the corner and out of sight, “that since you have certain, er, motivations to be sympathetic to our plight and all that you might consider doing a few small, insignificant, super-minor favors to help make our time here a bit more enjoyable.”

 

“Motivations.” Derek replies flatly, his arms crossed aggressively over his chest.

 

“Yeah,” says Stiles, leaning against the side of the house. Derek’s eyes follow him as he moves, though his face stays carefully blank. “Certain things you might, you know, have in common with a lot of us, things you wouldn’t really want the Argents finding out about, that might make you more inclined to understand our collective need for certain types of contraband.”

 

“You want contraband?” Derek repeats, and despite a clear effort on Derek’s part to keep calm and unflappable, his voice cracks slightly and his ears turn pink.

 

Stiles grins at Derek’s discomfort. “Wait, is this. Holy shit, dude. Is this doing it for you? Is my jailbait ass bossing you around getting you hot?”

 

“Shut up, Stiles.”

 

“You wanna finish what you started with me? Is that it?” Stiles leans into Derek’s space, flicking his eyes deliberately toward Derek’s mouth. “Is it just killing you to know that I’m getting some while I’m here, but not with you?”

 

“Shut up.” Derek grits out. “If you stop talking right now, I’ll get you some stuff from CVS. Bring me a shopping list and some cash, and I’ll get what I can.” Derek breaks away. “Bring me the list tomorrow before lunch. I have work to do.”

 

Stiles grins as he watches Derek march away. That was a hell of a lot easier than he’d expected, and hey, he’d learned some valuable information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come play with me on tumblr! [Wheeee!](http://minervamagooglie.tumblr.com/)


	4. You didn't tell me we were going to a GAY bar!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The campers reap the rewards of extorting Derek, and take a little field trip to the Cocksucker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some sex that gets kinda awkward? Is that a legitimate warning? Whatever, I'm gonna warn for it anyway.
> 
> Also, I'm changing the tags. Basically, I'll just add more tags whenever new stuff happens with each chapter. Let me know if there's anything I missed that you'd like to see tagged.

They get back from their afternoon Gender Identity activities on Wednesday to find a pile of CVS bags in the middle of their floor. Stiles snorts at the sight.

 

“Way to keep it subtle.” He mutters even as Erica squeals in his ear.

 

“Yay! Presents!” She shouts, before being immediately hushed by everyone.

 

“It’s bad enough Derek left that shit in plain sight, no need to broadcast our excitement to Victoria.” Danny chides, but even as he says it, he moves eagerly toward the pile. With that, they all descend to find what Derek was able to get for them.

 

“I feel like reviews of my dick are going to be absolutely glowing.” Stiles says, holding up a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms, and receiving a thwap to the head from Lydia for his efforts. Isaac laughs, though, so Stiles counts it as a win.

 

“Ooh! Cherry flavored lube! Nice innuendo there, hot groundskeeper Derek.” Says Erica, waggling her eyebrows at Jan, who sticks her tongue out in return. “Meow!” Erica laughs, “Tell me you know how to use that thing, baby!”

 

“Who asked for root beer?” Jan asks, shrugging Erica off and holding up a six-pack of A&W.

 

“That asshole.” Says Stiles, “I told him to get us beer!”

 

“Man, that would have been awesome.” Jackson bemoans

 

Isaac quietly snags a Kit-Kat bar. “My dad never lets me have these.” He says quietly.

 

“Well there’s plenty, now.” Danny tells him with a smile. “Have as many as you want.” Isaac smiles back and grabs three more, before Jackson breaks in.

 

“What the hell are dental dams?” He demands, squinting at the package in his hands.

 

“Those are for the lesbians in the room.” Lydia says primly, plucking them out of Jackson’s hands.

 

“I’ll have you know,” says Danny, “that these are way more important for rimming than they are for eating pussy.” He grabs the box back from Lydia and starts reading, “See, it says right here, for Oral/Vaginal or Oral/Anal contact.”

 

“I still don’t get what they’re for.” Jackson pouts.

 

“What, do you want me to show you?” Danny asks

 

“No!” Jackson says indignantly

 

“It does sound like a demonstration is in order, if only for the sake of educating our dear comrade Jackson.” Says Erica

 

“We could make it interesting.” Says Danny, “Have a little competition?”

 

“I like it.” Erica grins. “First one to get their partner off wins. Lyds, you wanna help me kick Danny’s butt here?”

 

Lydia grins, “I’m game.” She leans over and kisses Erica, slow and filthy.

 

“Hey!” Danny protests, “No cheating. We start at the same time. Jackson, you in this with me?”

 

“What? No! I’m not doing that!” Says Jackson

 

“Fine.” Says Danny, “Stiles?”

 

“Hell yeah.” Stiles agrees and whips off his shirt, “Let’s do this!”

 

Jackson glares at him.

 

“What?” Stiles protests. “If you’re looking for someone to turn down sex, you’ve come to the wrong guy.”

 

Danny snorts. “Shut up, Stilinski. Get naked and get on the bed.” Danny stands, removing his own shirt, before reaching down to help Stiles to his feet.

 

“Lydia got a kiss. Don’t I get a kiss?” Stiles pouts, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them off.

 

“I’ll kiss you if we win. Consider it incentive” Danny smirks

 

“So what are the rules here?” Lydia asks, shimmying her panties off, but leaving her dress in place.

 

“Start on ‘Go’, first one to climax wins?” Erica offers

 

“The people receiving shouldn’t be allowed to help.” Jan says, “Erica and Danny need to do all the work.”

 

“Can we talk? Give instructions or suggestions?” Lydia asks

 

“Yeah, but no touching yourselves.” Says Jan. She and Isaac are sitting side by side on Jan’s bed, a pile of candy between them.

 

“You, Isaac, and Jackson will be the judges, since we’ll probably be too caught up to tell.” Says Danny

 

“And no When Harry Met Sally bullshit, Lydia!” Stiles calls, “Let’s make it a clean fight.”

 

“I’m insulted, Stilinski.” Lydia replies.

 

Lydia sits on her bed, reaching back and tossing her pillow on the floor in front of her. “For your knees.” She tells Erica, who grins in reply.

 

Erica and Danny hold the box of dental dams between them, and Jackson says, “Well what are you waiting for? Go!”

 

Erica grabs a dam out of the box, and drops to her knees in front of Lydia, who spreads her legs and hikes her skirt obligingly.

 

“Oh! There’s a mint flavored one!” Says Danny.

 

“Don’t you dare put mint on my ass, motherfucker!” Shouts Stiles from the bed

 

“Fine, I’ll use vanilla.” Danny says, walking up behind him, “Since apparently that’s how you like your sex.”

 

“Lies and slander.” Stiles responds, “You take that back. Just because I don’t want a burning sensation in my-” He cuts off with a moan as Danny bites down on his asscheek. “Asshole!”

 

“Are you calling me an asshole, or finishing your sentence?” Asks Danny

 

“Both, neither, whatever, are you gonna get me off or are we gonna let the girls win?” Stiles snipes back.

 

In lieu of responding, Danny tears open the dental dam and drips some lube directly in Stiles’ waiting ass.

 

“Fuck, dude, that’s cold!” Stiles hisses, clenching briefly as Danny runs a finger down the crease, spreading the lube more evenly. Danny spreads Stiles’ cheeks and, holding the dam in place with his forefingers and thumbs, licks a long, hot stripe up Stiles’ ass.

 

Stiles groans, pushing back into the sensation as Danny licks again, teasing at Stiles’ entrance with the tip of his tongue. Stiles has played with his ass before, though not as much as he’d have liked. He was always terrified of his aunt catching him. On one memorable occasion, Heather had fingered him while she gave him a blowjob. It was one of the most intense orgasms he’d ever had.

 

What Danny’s doing is on a whole different level from his awkward fumblings in the shower. Danny’s tongue is thrusting shallowly, in and out. The tip of his tongue curling to catch the rim as it pulls out. Nobody’s laid the slightest touch on his cock yet, but he’s already hard as a rock.

 

From across the room, Stiles can hear Lydia moan under Erica’s attentions, words pouring out of her even as her voice goes breathy and high. “Right there, harder. Yeah, just like that. Steady. Steady. Oh god, that’s so good.”

 

Stiles groans as he lets his head fall down on the mattress, burying his face in the comforter. Behind him, Danny brings one had off his ass and begins to stroke his cock roughly.

 

“Lube.” Stiles gasps. “Hand’s too dry.” Danny obliges, and moments later his hand is back, slick with lube, curled tightly around his cock.

 

Lydia cries, “Oh god, do that again!” and then keens as Erica, presumably, does it again. Her breath starts coming in high, breathy cries. She sounds like she’s really close.

 

Stiles forces his focus back to thrusting into Danny’s hand while Danny continues to tongue fuck him. He’s riding the edge of orgasm as he hears Lydia cry, “ah-ah-ah-AH-AH.” Then take a breath before saying, “Holy shit, Eria. That was amazing.”

 

Moments later, he’s spilling over Danny’s hand and the comforter. He lifts his head and sees Derek through the window, staring wide eyed and gape mouthed.

 

“Shit.” he murmurs, dropping his head back to the mattress. When he looks back up, Derek is gone.

 

“Danny, man. That was seriously so fucking good.” He says, “Sorry we didn’t beat the girls.”

 

“No worries,” Danny says easily, “We’ll get’em next time.” And Stiles has to hold back a smirk at the sour face Jackson pulls.

 

“So what’s the official verdict?” Stiles asks, facing toward Jan and Isaac as he pulls his pants and boxers back on. “Just to confirm.”

 

“Girls.” Says Jan.

 

“Girls.” Isaac agrees.

 

The group looks to Jackson, who rolls his eyes and says, “Girls.”

 

Erica and Lydia cheer and high-five. Just then, there’s a knock on the door, causing a mad scramble to make the scene look innocent. Bags of condoms and lube get shoved under beds, Danny and Stiles frantically pull their shirts on, Lydia flings her discarded underwear toward the laundry pile.

 

Another knock comes, and Jan opens the door while everyone tries their best to look innocent.

 

Derek is scowling on the other side of the door. He keeps his voice quiet as he scolds them, “You guys can’t be subtle for a single fucking hour? It could have just as easily been Victoria passing by and overhearing your goddamn orgy. Keep that shit til after-hours or I’m confiscating it all.”

 

“Oh my god, Derek, stop being such a buzzkill.” Pouts Erica, wiping at her mouth with her thumb.

 

Derek’s expression darkens even further. “You guys have no idea how fucking lucky you’ve had it this far. If she catches you - you don’t want to know what she’s capable of. I promise you that.”

 

Jackson snorts. “What’s she gonna do, kick us out of camp? Send us home? Boo-Fucking-Hoo. What a pity.”

 

A complicated look crosses Derek’s face before settling back to a scowl. “Just quit being careless.” He says, before turning around, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

They stand around in awkward silence, staring at the closed door, until a nervous giggle bubbles its way up Stiles’ throat, breaking into the quiet. That makes Danny snort, and soon all of them are laughing until they’re bent over, tears forming in their eyes.

 

“Oh my god, you guys.” Isaac whines through peels of laughter, “That could have been so much worse!”

 

And that sets them off all over again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles hates pretty much every aspect of camp, but right this moment he’s having trouble finding a good reason to complain. Chris has them gathered around a car (a big, imposing, probably compensating for something SUV) and is teaching them how to change the oil.

 

Derek stands beside him, in battered jeans and a white tank. Chris has requested his assistance today, so that he can instruct while Derek demonstrates. Derek looks less than thrilled to be there. However, he also looks fucking hot.

 

Chris drones on about proper procedure, and the kind of equipment one needs before starting, but Stiles is too distracted by Derek’s arms as he jacks the car.

 

Chris is yammering about removing a cap so the oil drains faster and smoother, but all Stiles can think about is the way Derek’s jeans pull over his ass as he bends, ducking beneath the car hood. Stiles isn’t alone, if the way Jackson mutters, “fuck” under his breath or the way Isaac shifts restlessly beside him are any indication.

 

It gets worse once Derek slides underneath the car, his hips wriggling and thrusting every time he has to change position. Stiles is pretty sure he’s catching flies, the way he’s staring open mouthed, but Derek’s jeans are just tight enough that Stiles can make out the faint outline of his cock resting on his thigh, and Stiles wants to sit on it.

 

“Boys!” Chris shouts, a stark contrast to his droning narration of Derek’s activities, “You should be ashamed of yourselves. If I catch you staring at a man like that again, you’ll be memorizing football statistics all weekend!”

 

The boys all groan, and Chris glares at them harder.

 

“I mean, yay football!” Stiles intones, “I love learning the stats of the league’s top tight ends.”

 

“Hear there’s some good up and coming wide receivers.” Danny chimes in.

 

They’re interrupted by Derek cursing, “Fuck!” and sliding out from beneath the car. There’s a long trail of murky black oil dripping its way down Derek’s forearm.

 

“Couldn’t get away clean.” He tells Chris, pulling up his tank to wipe the oil off his arm. Suddenly there are abs. Beautiful, sculpted abs and a thick, dark happy trail and Stiles is seriously going to need to find some privacy to jerk it as soon as this is over because Derek looks like sex.

 

Apparently, there’s nothing more to do until the oil finishes draining, so they stand around awkwardly while Chris continues lecturing about regular car maintenance. Derek glares at Stiles, his tank now wrinkled and grease stained, and Stiles looks back, trying to make his face look innocent and to keep from drawing attention to the way he’s rock hard in his jeans right now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you want, Stiles? Derek demands when Stiles seeks him out after dinner. He’s sitting against a tree on the edge of the property, just belong a low hill that gives the spot some semblance of privacy.

 

“What, besides for you to lick every inch of me until I come screaming your name?” Stiles asks, keeping his tone as casual as he can. Derek lowers his paperback to glare at Stiles.

 

“No, seriously.” Stiles continues blithely, “I think you’re underestimating the effects of your hotness during today’s demonstration. I think I even saw Chris adjusting himself.” Derek winces, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

 

“If you’re just here to tell me that Chris Argent thinks I’m sexy,” Derek shudders, “which are words I am going to regret having said for the rest of my life, so thanks for that, I’d really rather you fuck off.”

 

“Nah.” Stiles says, dropping down to sit beside Derek, and bumping their shoulders companionably, “I’m here to extort you some more.”

 

“You cannot possibly be out of condoms already.” Derek says, “What are you doing with them, making balloon animals?”

 

Stiles snorts. “Nope. We’re good on that front. Though could you make balloon animals out of condoms? I feel like the lube would make them harder to twist together.”

 

“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek says impatiently.

 

“I want you to take us on a field trip.” Stiles says, “To the Cocksucker.”

 

After some prodding, Stiles gets Derek to agree. All it takes, really, is agreeing to Derek's over-abundance of caution.

 

“It’s all or nothing if we do this, do you understand?” Says Derek, arms crossed

 

“For the last time, yes. I get it. We’re all in.” Says Stiles, rolling his eyes

 

“If one person decides to opt out, or gets cold feet, none of you are going.”

 

“I said I get it! Why are you being such a butt about this?”

 

“A butt? Really?” Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles

 

“Oh I’m sorry, Mr. Consorts-with-17-year-olds, I didn’t realize you were such a paragon of maturity!” Stiles snaps back.

 

Derek sighs and rolls his eyes. “If you’re all equally culpable, you’re all less likely to narc.”

 

Stiles shrugs. It’s actually a good point, but Stiles doesn’t feel like conceding it.

 

“Let’s go over the plan one more time.” Derek insists. Stiles groans, but does it anyway.

 

“Lights out at 9:45, Victoria does her final bed check at 10, and we are all feigning sleep like perfect little angels, Victoria leaves at 10:15, we listen for her car to make sure she leaves when she’s supposed to, leaving good old apathetic Peter our only supervisor. At 10:30 we meet you at the bottom of the driveway, where you’ll be waiting with your friend’s borrowed van, and boom, we’re partying at Cocksucker by 11.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, it all manages to go spectacularly to plan. At 10:17 they hear Victoria’s car make its way down the gravel driveway, and by 10:20 they’re making their way down the drive themselves. Hale House sits pretty far back from the nearest road, and the driveway twists and turns through the woods. Someone turns on a flashlight, someone else hisses at them until they turn it off as they tiptoe their way down the gravel path.

 

As promised, Derek is waiting at the bottom of the drive next to a van that’s seen better days.

 

“Nice wheels.” Stiles says, winking, as he climbs into the front passenger seat.

 

“Hold up, there’s only six of you. I told you we’re not going unless-”

 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Hale.” Says Erica as she approaches. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk down a gravel driveway, in the dark, in heels? Not exactly the stuff landspeed records are made of.”

 

“Lydia seems to have made it without dawdling.” Derek sneers

 

“Lydia made me give her a piggyback ride.” Pouts Jackson, and Erica sticks her tongue out at Derek.

 

“Are we done bitching and moaning?” asks Stiles, “Let’s fucking go already!”

 

The all get in the car, with minimal bickering over seating arrangements, and head towards the club.

“I can’t believe we did it!” Isaac says, grinning brightly, “We actually snuck out! This is so cool!”

 

“Yeah it is!” Danny says, patting him on the shoulder. “Are you ready for your first night out at a gay bar?”

 

And Isaac freezes. “Wait. We’re going to a gay bar? You guys didn’t tell me we were going to a gay bar!”

 

“Where the fuck else would we go?” says Jackson, rolling his eyes

 

As the others rush to soothe Isaac, Derek shoots Stiles a look that says very clearly, ‘I am going to murder you in your sleep’.

 

“Hand to god, I thought he knew!” Stiles says. Derek’s jaw tightens, though his eyes are fixed back on the road. “Seriously!” Stiles continues, “I mean, how do you hear ‘cocksucker’ and think, gee, that sounds like a fine, upstanding, heterosexual establishment?”

 

“Girls suck- Girls do that, too, Stiles!” Isaac yells at him from the back, “How was I supposed to know they meant it in a gay way?”

 

“Boyd’s gonna meet us there in 10, how far out are we?” Erica says, and Stiles does a double take at the phone in her hand.

 

“About 15 minutes” Says Derek, over Stiles sputtering.

 

“Seriously? Have you had a phone this whole time?” Stiles demands, “I thought they fucking confiscated everyones!”

 

Erica snorts. “Did you seriously think I was gonna go six fucking weeks without talking to my boyfriend?” she asks, “I handed over a burner, dumbshit.”

 

They get to the club a few minutes later, and Erica nearly throws herself out of the van and into the arms of a guy Stiles assumes is Boyd, given the way he catches her with ease and swings her around.

 

“Guys, come meet my boyfriend!” She calls back to them, and Stiles is suddenly feeling nervous, because Boyd is fucking built and Stiles totally got nasty with his girlfriend, like, a week ago, and yeah, Erica said it was cool, but what if it’s not? What if Boyd takes one look at him and decides to beat him to a bloody pulp? He totally could, too, because Boyd has fucking muscles, while Stiles is… wiry.

 

“... Jan, and Danny, and Isaac,” Erica is pointing them out as they approach, and Boyd grins at each of them in turn. “And Stiles.” Erica says as Stiles reaches them.

 

“Hey, Stiles.” Says Boyd, easy grin still in place, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” And then he winks. Fucking winks, and oh god, he knows. Erica has told him everything, because of course she has. Boyd must see the panic on his face, because his smile turns into a smirk.

 

“That loser hovering near the van is Derek. Say hi, Derek!” Erica calls

 

“I don’t know any of you people.” Derek replies. “Go enjoy your debauchery and leave me in peace.”

  
  
  


They’ve barely been at the club for half an hour when Stiles stumbles off the dance floor and orders a drink at the bar, pointing randomly at one of the beers on tap and grinning at the bartender as he trades a crumpled five for the glass.

 

Derek is sitting alone in a booth near the back when Stiles slides into the seat next to him.

 

“What do you want, Stiles.”

 

“Nothing! Can’t a guy just join another guy for a drink? I love this place, by the way. They don’t card even a little. Fuckin’ none of us pass for 21, especially in a group, but do they care? Not remotely.” He sips his beer, trying valiantly to suppress a wince. It’s not a taste he’s particularly acquired yet, but he’s determined to like it before he hits college.

 

“Try wheat beers.” Derek says, not looking up from his own drink. Soda. He’s apparently taking being the designated driver to a bunch of drunken teens very seriously.

 

“What?” says Stiles, more to assure himself that Derek had actually spoken.

 

“Try wheat beers.” Derek repeats slowly, rolling his eyes, “When you’re trying to learn how to drink beer and like it. Wheat beers are a lot milder, you can kind of ease yourself in. Build up to the bitter and hoppy ones.”

 

Stiles nods, considering this. “I will remember that. Thanks. Does this mean you’ve decided to forgive me for pseudo-blackmailing you?”

 

“Pseudo?” Derek snorts.

 

“Yeah, I mean.” Stiles shrugs. “It’s not like I actually have anything on you. So, what? You danced with me at a club. We barely did more than that before I got dragged away.”

 

“You don’t get it, Stiles. How dangerous the Argents are. They hate us. They hate what we are. If Victoria found out I was still--” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, and takes a drink from his soda.

 

“She knows you’re--”  Stiles pauses, gears whirling in his head as he assesses Derek. “Did you go through the program?”

 

“When I was 15.” Derek confirms with a small nod. “I meant it when I told you guys you have it easy. Before Jennifer came with her bullshit psychology about finding your ‘root’, the Argents were all about ‘Aversion Therapy’. It--” Derek pauses, running a hand over his face like he can scrub the memories away. “I don’t want you to have to go through that. Any of you.”

 

“Why on earth would you come back?” Stiles asks, his mind spinning with so much new information about Derek.

 

Derek shrugs, and refuses to meet Stiles’ gaze.

 

“Hey, come on!” Stiles protests, “We were having a conversation here. Don’t be like that, all cold-shouldered and shit.”

 

“And how would you like me to be, Stiles?” Derek asks, turning to face Stiles, brow furrowed.

 

Stiles looks at him a moment, then leans in slowly. He waits for Derek to move, his lips hovering bare inches from Derek’s, and holds his breath hoping that Derek will close the gap. Instead, after a long moment, Derek pushes himself back and slides out of the booth and walks away.

 

“So, what?”Stiles shouts after him, stinging with rejection, “I was good enough for you two weeks ago, but not now? is that it?” But Derek just keeps walking until he’s pushing open the door and leaves the bar.

 

“Stiles! There you are!” Calls Erica just a few minutes later. “Come dance with us!”

 

And Stiles has better things to do than sulk in the back of a bar all night, so he chugs what remains of his beer and goes to join her.

 

Danny is leaning against the bar, his eyes trained on Jackson, who’s pouting by the door. Stiles rolls his eyes and grabs Danny by the arm, pulling him onto the dance floor.

 

“Stiles, hold on a sec. I like you and all, but--” Danny starts.

 

“Relax.” Stiles cuts in, wrapping Danny’s arms around his waist before slinging his own around Danny’s neck, “I know you’re into Jackson, and he’s into you. And for some dumbfuck reason, neither of you are making a move. So you’re gonna dance with me, and we’re gonna let Jackson stew in his jealousy until he grows the balls to make a move.”

 

Danny sighs, the tension leaving him. “I don’t know what’s up with him.” He confesses, “Every time I try to bring up him and me trying something, he gets all tense and moody, and starts talking about shit Jennifer says. It’s like he wants this stupid program to work or something.”

 

“Maybe part of him does.” Stiles says, “I mean, I barely know the guy and even I can see how much he wants to be the perfect son for his parents.” Danny huffs, confirming what had been mostly speculation on Stiles’ part.

 

“The thing is, though,” Stiles continues, “I think the part of him that wants to be with you is stronger.”

 

“You’re a sweet guy, you know that, Stilinski?” Danny says, “It’s hard to see, underneath how much of a smartass you are-”

 

“Hey!” Stiles protests

 

“But it’s there.” Danny concludes, and leans in to kiss Stiles lightly.

 

“What was that for?” Stiles asks.

 

“Not being an asshole.” Danny replies.

 

“Shit, speaking of--” Stiles says, his gaze shifting to where Jackson is standing, “Jackson’s leaving in a huff, you’d better go after him.”

 

Danny turns just in time to see the door swinging closed. He swears and runs off toward it, yelling a distracted thanks over his shoulder.

 

“I hope it works out!” Stiles calls after him, before throwing himself back into the middle of the dance floor.

 

He ends up dancing between Erica and Boyd. It’s less dancing, really, and more grinding. Boyd feels firm against his back, one hand reaching around him to rest on Erica’s waist, the other stroking teasingly along Stiles’ hip. Erica tilts her head back on Stiles’ shoulder and says to both of them, a grin on her face, “Wanna go have some fun that’s a little more R-rated?”

 

She leads them off the dancefloor and into the bathrooms. “I was telling Boyd how good you are at eating pussy.” She tells Stiles. “He wanted to know if you’re any good at sucking cock.” She’s grinning at him, with Boyd wrapping around her from behind. Boyd’s kissing at Erica’s neck, but his eyes are on Stiles.

 

“I, uh. I’ve never done it before.” Stiles admits. Erica looks at him, confused.

 

“How much have you done with guys?” She asks.

 

“Um. The thing with Danny the other day. Pretty much.” Stiles admits, “Derek was my first kiss with a guy, the night I got caught, but it didn’t go any further than that.”

 

“Are you telling me that your first time having gay sex was at pray-the-gay-away camp?” Erica says, laughing. It’s not malicious, just surprised and thoroughly amused.

 

“I think that’s the actual definition of irony.” Boyd says. He’s not laughing like Erica, but his eyes are amused. “Get sent to camp to be cured of gayness, end up losing your gay-ginity.”

 

“That’s not even a word.” Stiles says reflexively.

 

“Who told you it wasn’t a word?” Asks Erica.

 

“It’s totally a word.” Agrees Boyd.

 

“Whatever.” Stiles says, smiling, “Can we get back to the part where I got dragged into the bathroom so the two of you can defile me even more in the eyes of god?”

 

“You sure you want to?” Boyd asks.

 

“First time for everything.” Stiles replies, “Yeah, I want to.”

 

“Don’t even worry.” Erica says, dragging them both into a stall, “I’ll coach you through it, you’ll be great.”

 

She hops up on the seat of the toilet, draping herself over Boyd’s broad shoulders.

 

“C’mere” She says to Stiles, pulling him in for a kiss. Stiles leans into it, pressing himself against Boyd in the process. Boyd puts his hands on Stiles’ hips, keeping him there as Erica breaks the kiss. Boyd kisses him slowly, methodically. It feels oddly reassuring.

 

“You sure you want to?” Boyd asks as he breaks the kiss. Stiles nods, and sinks to his knees.

 

“Ok, Stiles, I’m gonna tell you what to do, and you just follow my instructions as best you can.” Says Erica. “You let me know if you can’t or don’t want to do something I tell you, got it?”

 

Stiles nods, looking up at her and Boyd from where he’s kneeling.

 

“Ok, go ahead and undo his pants and take him out.” Erica instructs, and Stiles does as he’s told. He pulls out Boyd’s cock, which is already half hard. Boyd isn’t particularly long, but he’s thick. Stiles strokes him tentatively, waiting for Erica’s next instruction.

 

“Now stroke him a bit, get him nice and hard.” Erica says, “Yeah, just like that. Like touching yourself, just a different angle, right?”

 

It’s not quite like that, but Stiles strokes as Boyd grows and hardens in his hand. He wants to lean forward, lick it, kiss it, but he waits for Erica to speak.

 

“Alright, now give it a nice long lick.”

 

Stiles buries his face in Boyd’s crotch, probing gently at Boyd’s balls before relaxing his tongue and dragging it slowly along Boyd’s length until he reaches the tip.

 

“Good boy.” Erica croons, “Now open your mouth for Boyd.”

 

Stiles opens, making sure his teeth are out of the way, as Boyd pushes in gently.

 

“Take what you can in your mouth, cover the rest with your hand.” Erica says, and Stiles does as he’s told, getting used to the feel of Boyd in his mouth. He tastes salty, which Stiles more or less expected, and like sex, but not in the same way Erica or Heather had. Boyd’s cock stretches Stiles’ mouth, resting heavy on his tongue and Stiles feels full in a weirdly pleasant way. He pushes forward, trying to fit more in his mouth, until he feels Boyd’s cock at the back of his mouth. He tries to relax his throat, push further, but he gags and has to pull off, coughing.

 

“Sorry, sorry.” He says between coughs, but Erica and Boyd are reaching down and petting his hair, murmuring soothing noises.

 

“You ok?” Erica asks.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, “just tried to take too much too fast, I guess.”

 

“Baby, nobody expects you to be able to deepthroat on your first try.” Erica says, “How are you feeling, do you want to try again?”

 

Stiles nods, “Yeah, yeah, just let me--” He swallows a few times, takes a few deep breaths, and looks up at Boyd. “Ok?” He asks, wrapping his hand back around Boyd’s shaft.

 

“Whatever you want, man. You’re driving.” Boyd says.

 

“You’re doing good, Stiles.” Says Erica, “You’re doing really good. Just take what feels comfortable for you, don’t push.”

 

Stiles nods, and takes Boyd back in his mouth, stopping before his cock pushes too far back. He strokes Boyd’s shaft, from the base up to meet his lips, and at Erica’s instruction he sucks, hollowing his cheeks around Boyd’s girth.

 

He starts building a rhythm, between his hand and his mouth. He reaches his other hand up to play with Boyd’s balls, gently teasing and tugging. After a few minutes, he pulls off, needing to breathe for a moment or two. Before he can go back to sucking cock, though, Boyd is pulling him to his feet and kissing him.

 

“You did so good.” Erica says in his ear, and Boyd hums in agreement against his mouth. “It’s your turn, now.”

 

And suddenly, Stiles finds his back against the wall, Erica and Boyd touching him and kissing him from either side. Erica reaches down to undo his pants, pulling his cock out, and Stiles groans.

 

Erica produces a small packet of lube, and squeezes it into Boyd’s waiting hand. They begin stroking Stiles together, their hands intertwined, and Stiles can’t help the way his hips jerk into their hands.

 

Erica continues to murmur praise and comforting words in his ear, while Boyd lets his lips wander Stiles’ skin. Stiles lets himself get lost in the sensation of it all, the heat of their bodies pressing against him, the slick grip they have on his cock. He lets his head fall back as he arches, hips thrusting in jerky motions. It doesn’t take long before he’s coming, blowing his load with an ugly guttural cry.

 

Boyd grabs some toilet paper to clean them off, wiping his and Erica’s hands, then cleaning Stiles’ softening dick with gentle motions before tucking him back into his jeans and zipping him back up.

 

Erica is nuzzling along his neck and jaw, and she whispers in his ear, “Boyd’s gonna fuck me now. Wanna stay and watch?”

 

Stiles is kind of sex-stupid and out of it, but Erica’s hot, and Boyd’s hot, and the two of them fucking is probably super-hot, so Stiles nods. He pushes his back against the stall door, giving Erica and Boyd what little room he can, and watches as Erica kisses Boyd, rolling a condom on his cock. She strokes him a few times, before Boyd reaches down and grabs her thighs, hoisting her up as she wraps her legs around him. Erica’s skirt gets pushed up, revealing a distinct lack of underwear, as she guides Boyd in.

 

“Fuck, baby. I missed you.” She says as Boyd fills her up. She wraps her arms around Boyd’s neck and kisses him. Boyd presses her back into the side of the stall and fucks her steadily. He brings a hand off her thigh, trusting her grip on him, to thumb teasingly at her clit, making her moan.

 

It’s incredibly intimate, Stiles thinks as he watches, the way they fit together perfectly, their bodies so in sync.

 

“God, I love you so much.” Erica gasps, looking straight into Boyd’s eyes.

 

“Me too.” Boyd replies, “I love you, too.”

 

As they kiss, Stiles feels like he’s intruding. There’s too much emotion, too much feeling as Boyd and Erica let themselves drown in each other. Stiles closes his eyes and lets the sounds wash over him. His mind drifts, he doesn’t realize how far until he hears his name.

 

“Stiles?” Erica says, snapping her fingers in his face. He opens his eyes blearily to see her grinning at him. “Did you fall asleep on us there, buddy?” She grins

 

Stiles rubs his face, shaking his head, “No, I just. I don’t know. Maybe?”

 

Erica laughs. “Come on, sleepy head, it’s probably almost time for us to be getting back, anyways.”

 

Back in the club, they’re greeted almost immediately by Lydia.

 

“There you are!” She exclaims, “We’ve been looking all over for you guys!”

 

The rest of the group is waiting by the van, and start piling in as Lydia approaches with Stiles, Erica and Boyd in tow. Danny and Jackson settle cozily in the back, and Isaac gets sandwiched between Lydia and Jan. Stiles takes a moment to decide which is least appealing - sitting next to Derek, or a newly coupled Danny and Jackson. He sighs and heaves himself into the front seat, leaving Erica to the loverboys.

 

Derek glances over from the drivers seat, giving Stiles a considering look. Stiles really isn’t in the mood for Derek’s attention, not while he’s still smarting from Derek’s rejection earlier. He fakes a yawn, that turns into a real yawn about half-way through, and says, “I’m tired, man. We should get going.”

 

Derek honks the horn, and Erica startles in Boyd’s arms. She gives him one last, lingering kiss before jogging toward the van.

 

The ride home is quieter, everyone slumping together, half-asleep. Stiles gazes out the window, at trees along the side of the road being briefly illuminated by the headlights, then disappearing back into the dark. They barely pass any other cars on their way back to camp.

Derek actually drives them to the top of the driveway, rather than letting them out at the bottom where he picked them up. Everyone tumbles out, sleepily murmuring their goodnights. Stiles opens the door, but turns back to Derek before climbing out.

 

“Thanks for driving, man.” He says, “Seriously, it was really cool of you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Derek says gruffly, “Go get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”

 

Stiles gets out, and turns to watch as Derek drives away, until the tail lights disappear down the driveway.

 

Then he heads inside and toes off his shoes before falling into bed. He’s asleep mere moments after his head hits his pillow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come play with me on Tumblr! [Wheeeeeee!](http://minervamagooglie.tumblr.com/)


	5. You know who you are and you know who you want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang gets a new member, and two of our crew come out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a long fucking time and I apologize for that. Writers block hit hard, and when inspiration did strike it was usually for a different one of my WIPs (all still sitting in my google docs. I think this may be my last foray into publishing a WIP. It's too stressful)
> 
> Please note, there have been some changes to the tags.

They’re mid-way through their morning therapy session when Victoria calmly enters the room, immediately ceasing all discussions.

 

“I want you all to know that the little field trip that happened last night did not go unnoticed.” She says coolly. “I may not know yet who the perpetrators were, but rest assured; I will find out.”

 

Around the room, every camper’s face is frozen in terror as Victoria continues, “If any of you have information about this unsanctioned outing, I urge you to come forward and share. The individuals who left the property last night are clearly in need of more intensive therapies than we are currently providing, and you would be doing the right, moral thing to turn them in so they can be helped.”

 

Victoria pauses staring accusingly at each of them in turn.

 

“From now on, you will all be receiving stricter supervision.” Victoria tells them. “Rather than free time in your evenings after dinner, you will participate in additional group activities, and you will be joined in your dormitory at night by my daughter, Allison, who will be reporting any undesirable behavior directly to me.”

 

She gestures to someone standing outside the room, and a pretty, dark haired girl enters, smiling shyly.

 

“Ladies, you already know Allison from your group activities. She will be a permanent part of your group for the remainder of your time here.”

 

As Victoria introduces her daughter to the boys in the group, Stiles glances up to see Lydia scowling viciously. She glares and shifts away when Allison takes the open seat next to her when Jennifer invites her to sit.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe they saddled us with a fucking narc!” Erica hisses when they get back to their dorm room. Allison is settling in, and smiling as she talks to Isaac.

 

Stiles nods in agreement, his attention still half-fixed on Lydia, who seems to be taking Allison’s presence much worse than the rest of them.

 

“What’s up with Lydia and Allison?” He asks Erica. “Is there some drama happening at the girl activities you haven’t been sharing?”

 

Erica shrugs. “Lydia’s just the unlucky one who gets paired up with her every time we do an activity. You’d get tired of being told the Argents have your best interests in mind and to look forward to how much better life will be once you’re cured, too.”

 

“Seriously? She’s a True Believer in this bullshit?” Stiles asks, and winces when Erica nods.

 

Stiles ends up eating dinner with Lydia at one of the smaller tables, the group has started spreading out at meal time rather than sitting clustered together.

 

Lydia’s sulking about Allison’s presence, stabbing angrily at the lettuce on her plate, and without conversation to occupy him, Stiles glances around at the rest of the group. He tries to wave Isaac over to join them, but he ends up sitting next to Jan and Erica instead.

 

Allison’s sitting with Jackson and Danny, who look super uncomfortable with her presence. She’s grinning brightly at them, and chattering away, but on several occasions Stiles catches her darting glances at Lydia. Each time, she notices Stiles noticing her, and looks away quickly.

 

“Ok, what is the deal with you and our new spy?” Stiles finally asks Lydia.

 

“There is no deal.” Lydia says sharply, “She’s convinced this bullshit is to ‘save’ us, and we don’t want to be saved. End of story.”

 

“She just seems particularly interested in you, is all.” Stiles says, aiming for non-committal.

 

“Oh, am I supposed to be flattered that I’m Princess Straight-and-Narrow’s pet project?” Lydia snipes. She turns to glare at Allison, and accidentally catches her eye. Allison blushes and turns away.

 

“Oh my god, she’s crushing on you!” Stiles whisper-shouts

 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Stilinski? She’s a true believer.” Lydia scoffs.

 

“No way, Lyds. Nobody blushes that hard over meeting someone’s eyes unless there is some serious crushing going on.” Stiles insists. “Do you like her, too?” He waggles his eyebrows at her.

 

“Are you kidding me? She’s making my life miserable! And I’m already straight, so I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Lydia says.

 

“Right. You’re here, with us queers, because you’re 100% hetero.” Stiles says

 

“I’m Katy Perry levels of bi-curious, max.” Lydia insists, “Slutty-dancing with girls for male attention does not a homo make.”

 

“Ok.” Stiles says.

 

“I mean it, Stiles! The only thing I feel for her is complete annoyance. And if she’s interested in me, it’s only as another notch in her ‘sinners saved’ belt.” Lydia hisses.

 

“I said ok!” Stiles insists, raising his hands defensively.

 

* * *

 

“So how are we gonna deal with this Allison situation?” Danny says lowly, as the boys stand together to watch Chris demonstrate proper gun safety with a hunting rifle.

 

“Well, we could always just buckle down and behave.” Jackson says dryly. Stiles tries not to laugh, but then Danny snorts, and Jackson chuckles, and Stiles can’t keep back a giggle. Even Isaac cracks a grin.

 

“Boys!” Chris demands, “What is so funny over there?”

 

“Nothing, Sir.” The boys chorus

 

“It better be nothing.” Chris says with a warning glare. He continues his lecture, showing them how to disassemble the weapon for cleaning.

 

“No, but seriously.” Danny whispers, “I’ll go nuts if I have to worry about some Argent watching me every minute of every day.” Danny’s hand brushes not-so-casually against Jackson’s as he talks.

 

“We could pull divide-and-conquer.” Isaac suggests quietly. “I mean, we’re not all together all the time, so as long as we rotate who’s keeping Allison distracted at free-time, the rest of us can keep on doing what we like.”

 

“Simple, yet brilliant.” Stiles grins, “I knew I liked you for a reason, Isaac.”

 

With that solution, the boys return their attention to Chris, who is demonstrating how to clean the barrels by pumping the rod in and out, in and out. And if some of them get distracted by the way Chris’ forearms flex as he shoves that wad of cotton deep inside the barrel, well…. it’s probably best not to mention it.

 

* * *

 

Family therapy day rolls around again, and Stiles is surprised and relieved to see his dad arrive.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Stiles says, rushing over to greet his dad. “I mean, after last week-”

 

The Sheriff cuts him off with a shake of his head. “Kid, given the choice between dealing with these idiots and not seeing you at all, I’ll suffer through the idiots every time.”

His aunt arrives just before therapy starts, slipping in quietly to sit beside Stiles. She gives him a tight smile, before fixing her gaze firmly on Jennifer.

 

Everyone else is seated, Isaac’s dad even showed up this week, though he doesn’t look happy about it, so Jennifer starts the session.

 

A few more campers offer up roots. Jan blames softball, Danny confesses the time he let his female cousins dress him up like a girl when he was five, and Lydia gives a stunning and emotionally wrought performance in which she claims to have only realized how wrong her attractions were once she arrived at camp, and places the blame for her newfound perversions firmly on the shoulders of her mother’s new french boyfriend, which, of course, thrills her dad. Stiles can practically see his purse strings opening up as Lydia assures her dad that she’ll be normal soon.

 

Jennifer thanks them each for sharing, and confirms that they’ve each found their root, marking them off on her clipboard with a satisfied check.

 

“Isaac.” Jennifer says, “Have you had any thoughts about your root?”

 

Isaac sinks even further into his seat and shrugs. “I spent a lot of time with my mom before she died.” Isaac says, so quietly everyone in the room has to strain to hear him.

 

“Isaac, that’s perfectly normal.” Jennifer says patiently, kindly. “Most children spend a lot of time with their mother, boys and girls. Mothers are meant to me our primary caretakers.”

 

Isaac’s dad snorts, “She coddled the boy.” He says, and Isaac flinches at the sound of his voice. “And what’s all this root business all about anyway? I sent my faggot son here so you could butch him up, not help him get in touch with his goddamn feelings.”

 

“Mister Lahey!” Jennifer says, affronted, “In this room we speak with respect! Your son is a homosexual working to be cured, and finding the root cause of his homosexuality is essential to his healing process! You should be proud of how hard your son is working to get better.”

 

“My son’s the same nancy-boy fag he was the day I sent him here.” Mr Lahey sneers. “I expected at least some kind of improvement by now. If this touchy-feely bullshit is all you’ve been doing, I think I’d better take Isaac’s treatment up with the Argents directly.”

 

And with that, Mr. Lahey leaves the room, dragging Isaac along with him.

 

After trying and failing to get their session back on track, Jennifer ends family therapy a few minutes early.

 

Stiles’ aunt approaches him as he’s talking with his dad outside.

“Stiles, dear.” She says, clutching her purse tightly. “I hope I never made you feel like that poor boy in the session today. His father speaks as though he hates that boy for being what he is. And I want you to know I never felt that way.” She reaches up and places her hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I sent you hear out of love, Stiles. Because I want you to be able to lead a happy and fulfilling life. You know that, don’t you?”

 

She looks up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she silently begs for his understanding. Stiles sighs.

 

“I know you think that, Aunt Anita.” He says, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “But if you really loved me, you would accept me for who I am rather than loving the ideal person you wish I was.”

 

His aunt whimpers, and Stiles feels a moment of sickening satisfaction thinking his words struck home. But then his aunt straightens herself, and says, “I suppose I can only hope this program changes your mind about that. About me. You’re still a child in my care, Stiles, and I have to do what I think is best to raise you into a good man.”

 

With that, she marches off toward her car, leaving Stiles alone with his dad.

 

“I swear, kiddo.” His dad says. “The day you turn eighteen, you never have to speak to that woman again unless you want to.” He sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, you know. That I left you with her for so many years.”

 

Stiles protests, “Dad, there was nothing you could have-”

 

“I could’ve fought harder for you, son. I could have filed for appeal after appeal until you were back home with me where you belong.” The sheriff says sadly.

 

“Dad, no.” Stiles says, “There’s no way bankrupting yourself on legal fees would have helped your case. We had crappy luck, and a crappy judge with fucked up conservative values who thought me having a maternal figure was more important than being with my actual flesh-and-blood father. That’s not your fault.”

 

The sheriff sighs, and lets his son hug him, squeezing back tightly.

 

Mr. Lahey and Victoria Argent come out of the house together, Isaac cowering behind them. Mr. Lahey shakes Victoria’s hand firmly, says something to his son that makes him flinch, and walks off toward his car.

 

“I’m worried about that Isaac kid.” The sheriff says to Stiles, as they both watch the exchange.

 

“Me too.” Stiles confesses. “I think they live in your county. Is there anything you can do to check him out? Anything you can dig up to give you an excuse to look into him more?”

 

“I’ll look, but don’t get your hopes up, kid.” The sheriff says. “Guys like that, you gotta catch’em in the act to make anything stick. And with Isaac being here…” He pauses, and looks at his son. “Watch out for him, alright, son? Don’t let him get indoctrinated. He’ll have an easier time breaking away from a bad environment if he knows he has allies.”

 

Stiles nods. “I will.” He promises. “I’ll see you next week?”

 

“You can count on it.” The sheriff says.

 

* * *

 

The next group therapy session, Jennifer has them all recalling their first same-sex attraction, and asks them each to visualize a “healthier” ie more heteronormative person they could have directed their desire towards in that scenario.

 

Jackson recalls middle school locker rooms, and the peep hole to the girls locker room the other boys used to crowd around. “I kept trying to see what the other boys had under their towels, instead of crowding around the peep hole like the other boys.”

 

Jennifer clears her throat uncomfortably, before allowing, “Good, Jackson. While they are not particularly respectful towards your female peers, peep holes like the one you describe are a common and healthy expression of curiosity and desire toward the opposite sex. Thank you for sharing with us.”

 

Erica shares how she’d admired the plush lips of a female classmate in elementary school, and wondered what it would be like to kiss them, while Jan says something vague about admiring a fellow softball player’s batting technique. Danny tells them how he kissed a boy in his class on an eighth grade field trip to the natural history museum, Stiles recounts his elaborate marriage ceremony to plushie Simba at age 4, and Lydia describes dancing close with another girl at a house party last year while the boys around them egged them on.

 

“And what about you, Isaac?” Jennifer asks, when Isaac is the only one left who has yet to share.

 

“Um.” Isaac stalls, fidgeting in his seat. “I guess I’m not really sure what you mean by attracted?”

 

“I mean, can you tell us about a time you saw a boy and wanted him?” Jennifer says

 

“Wanted him how?” Isaac says.

 

“Wanted to kiss him or touch him, the way a boy should want to kiss or touch a girl.” Jennifer says.

“Oh!” Isaac exclaims, blushing, “No, I never. I don’t let myself think those kinds of thoughts. It’s bad enough I’m a fa-- that I’m gay. If I were to actually think about boys that way, it would be so much worse.”

 

A puzzled, worried silence follows. Jennifer looks completely flummoxed. Finally, Lydia leans forward and asks, “Isaac. When did you first realize you were gay?”

 

Isaac fidgets again, uncomfortable with so much scrutiny. “Um.” He says hesitantly, “I mean, my dad’s been calling me a fairy and a fa-- a you know -- for as long as I can remember. So I guess I’ve always known?”

 

“But you’ve never actually been attracted to a boy.” Danny says, “Not even a movie star or someone?”

 

“No! I barely look, I swear.” Isaac says.

 

“What about girls?” Jan asks, “Did you ever look at a girl and think, yeah, I’d like to kiss her.”

 

“I tried!” Isaac protests. “I really did. I’d look at a girl all the other boys had crushes on, and I’d try to imagine myself kissing her, but I couldn’t ever make myself want it. Not like the other boys did.”

 

“Isaac, are you sure you’re gay?” Stiles asks, as gently as he can.

 

“I-- of course!” Isaac says. “What else would I be?”

 

“From what you’re telling us, it sounds like you might be asexual.” Stiles says, “It means you don’t experience sexual attraction. To anybody - boys or girls.”

 

“Well, there you are, Isaac!” Jennifer says, finally recovering from her puzzled stupor with a bright smile, “You’re half-cured already! You see? Instead of having to make you un-learn your attraction to men, we just have to help you find your healthy attraction to women!”

 

Stiles resists the urge to bang his head on the table repeatedly. He’ll need to make sure they talk to Isaac about the asexual question more without Jennifer around to screw it up with her hetero agenda.

 

* * *

 

As soon as they get to lunch, sitting clustered once again like they did in the early days of camp, Stiles says to Isaac, “So you know Jennifer’s full of shit, right? You don’t need to be cured of asexuality any more than you needed to be cured of homosexuality.”

 

“How do you know that’s even what I am?” Isaac asks.

 

“I don’t.” Stiles says. “You’re the only person who can figure out what you are. I’m just telling you what I think based on what you said this morning. There’s a whole Asexual spectrum, and I think it’s very likely you fit somewhere along it, because you told us you’ve never been attracted to someone before, male or female. But that’s just a guess. It’s something you need to explore for yourself to be sure.”

 

“But my whole life I’ve thought I was homosexual.” Isaac says, “My dad, the kids at school, my brother, my brother’s friends, they all told me I was gay.”

 

“Just because everyone believes you’re something and tells you you’re something, doesn’t make it true.” Says Jan. “Believe me.”

 

The whole table turns to peer at her curiously, and she blushes under the scrutiny.

 

Finally, she bursts out, “I’m straight!”

 

“Jan, what are you talking about? You don’t need--” Erica starts before Jan cuts her off.

 

“No, see? That’s what I’m talking about. I’m straight. I like dudes. Everyone just thinks I’m this big dyke because I play softball and wear baggy clothes and… and I’m not pretty like other girls. But that doesn’t make me a lesbian! It doesn’t mean I want to fuck women! I mean, all I really want is a big, fat wiener in my-”

 

“Amen, sister!” Danny calls, and the table bursts into giggles.

 

“Jan, why didn’t you just tell us in the first place?” Lydia asks. “It’s not like we would’ve judged.”

 

“‘Cause you all just assumed. Just like everyone assumes.” Jan says, “And when we first got here, if I’d told you then, you all would’ve just thought I was some closet case in denial. It’s just - it’s easier just to go along with it sometimes, let people think I am what they think.”

 

“Why didn’t you just say that to your parents instead of letting them send you here?” Erica asks, and Jan shrugs, roughly brushing away the tears that have come unbidden to her eyes.

 

“I’m like this walking stereotype, you know? And everyone just jumps to conclusions and thinks I’m lying when I say I’m not a dyke. So I figured it would be easier to just go away and come back ‘fixed’ than to try and convince them I wanted guys all along.”

 

She shakes her head, and continues, “It’s stupid, I know. And I guess I also thought that maybe part of the thing here would be to teach me how to act more lady-like and shit. How to look like a straight person. But I just suck at everything—all the vacuuming and diaper changing and pie baking, I can’t do any of it! I can’t even cross my legs right!” She sniffs back tears. It’s a loud, ugly sound, and it gets Danny to lean in and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

 

“That’s all bullshit, you know that, right?” Stiles says, “So what if you can’t bake a pie, that’s why they sell’em pre-made at the grocery store.”

 

“And you don’t have a kid, so why do you need to know how to change a diaper?” Chimes in Erica, “Besides, if you do have kids some day, you’ll take point on what goes into the kid for the first couple months,” she gropes her own chest to demonstrate, “so why shouldn’t your man take care of what comes out? You don’t need bitches like Victoria and Jennifer to tell you what it means to be a woman.”

 

“Yeah, I know that.” Jan says. “But it’s hard not being a girly-girl and still being straight. Sometimes I think I’d be better off if I was a lesbian, ‘cause then at least I’d make sense. I mean, what dude wants to date a girl that everyone thinks is a giant bull-dyke?”

 

“The right one.” Jackson says, surprising everyone. “What?” He says. “My mom always says there’s a lid for every pot. I’m sure there’s some dude out there who would want Jan just the way she is.”

 

“That’s…unexpectedly sweet, Jackson.” Danny says, leaning over to smack a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead.

 

“Whatever.” Jackson grumbles, and starts poking food around on his plate to avoid everyone’s gaze.

 

They all turn back to their lunch, settling from such an emotional conversation. After a few minutes, Jan puts her fork down suddenly and says, “Shit, Isaac. I’m sorry.”

 

“What for?” Isaac asks.

 

“We were talking about you, and I just, like, took over and made it all about me.” Jan says. “That was kinda shitty of me, huh?”

 

“No.” Says Isaac. “It was good to hear. I mean - if everyone is wrong about what they think you are, why shouldn’t they be wrong about what I am? Why shouldn’t I be asexual instead of gay?”

 

“I’ll lend you my phone tonight if you want.” Erica says. “You can start looking stuff up, fall into a wiki spiral. It’ll be good.”

 

“Thanks, Erica!” Isaac grins. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen Isaac smile so big, like a weight’s been lifted from his shoulders.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come follow me on tumblr! http://minervamagooglie.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Endgame parings (others may be added as the fic progresses):
> 
> Stiles/Derek  
> Lydia/Allison  
> Jackson/Danny  
> Erica/Boyd
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr! [Whee!!!](http://minervamagooglie.tumblr.com/)


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